


Love Me Please

by angelichl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Frat Boy Harry Styles, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Libraries, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Studying, very minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelichl/pseuds/angelichl
Summary: Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.The only problem?They're soulmates.





	Love Me Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherrybombers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybombers/gifts).



> I'm so so so sorry this is so late. Not the easiest fic for me to write but it's here now. I definitely would never have finished without pocksetsunshineharry and louisdeservestheworld-28, both of whom helped me greatly in so many different ways - most importantly by telling me to keep writing!
> 
> As a general warning, there's definitely some Louis/OMC action so if you have any questions/concerns jsut ask me, but obviously it's endgame larry. Also at one point Harry has a minor panic attack so be weary of that. And it's a little angsty as a whole but I promise the ending is happy!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! <3

  
  
  


LOUIS

 

Louis hates Harry Styles on principle.

He’s weird and annoying and he walks around like he’s too good for everyone else, like he couldn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks of him. He does what he wants and that’s that. He’s a stupid frat boy who gets wasted at parties and sleeps until 2:00 PM on a good day and looks at Louis like he’s something to be devoured and consumed whole.

Louis doesn’t want to be devoured or consumed whole.

Styles is a trust fund baby just waiting it out until his parents kick it so he can inherit everything. He’s getting a business degree right now but it doesn’t really matter, since he’ll just hire people to manage his money and assets anyways. In ten years he’ll be kicking his feet back and relaxing at his place in Ibiza, or Maui, or Los Cabos, or wherever the fuck he wants to go. There’s no need for him to work a day in his life. That bothers Louis.

Something else that bothers Louis is that he wears designer clothes to Monday morning lecture like that’s a normal thing to do. Somehow he still finds his way into holey, well-worn white Walmart t-shirts every one in a while—usually when Louis is around. Maybe he can tell the $4,800 faux fur Saint Laurent coat freaks Louis out, and that’s why he dresses down. The fact that he’s doing something for Louis’ sake bothers him even more than the fucking $4,800 faux fur Saint Laurent coat.

Since Louis is listing things that irk him, he might as well add the biggest culprit of all.

Nothing bothers Louis more than the fact that Harry Styles is his soulmate.

  
  


They found out the hard way, in front of a crowd. Given the amount of people, there was no way for Louis to just dip out and pretend it had never happened. Even though that’s what he wanted so badly he could hardly stand it.

Louis will never forget how stupid he felt, drawn forward by some invisible pull that took away his volition. He hadn’t left his dorm that night with the intention of making a fool of himself but it happened anyway. There was something beyond reality urging him—no,  _ forcing  _ him—to go out that night, even when he desperately wanted to have a quiet night in. He wanted tea and blankets and Law and Order reruns. He wanted to snuggle with his labradoodle and to sink into the couch until he fell asleep. He wanted to rest after a stressful week of exams and projects due, a break from social pressures and obligations from his friends and family. He wanted to exist with no eyes on him, just for a while.

Instead, he got a crowded event room filled with people who liked Harry, people who would do a lot of embarrassing things just for him to give them the time of day. It felt as if he was a celebrity, with the way people hung onto every word he said like he was the next coming of Christ or something.

Instead, he got bright lights and soft acoustic music and an infuriatingly handsome man with ridiculous tattoos singing about love. An expensive guitar in his hands, one that cost thousands. It was a college event, for God’s sake, no one should be that serious about anything.

Instead, he got the humiliation of pressing himself through the crowd until he was right at the edge of the makeshift stage which was really just a bunch of table pushed together, staring up at his soulmate hoping desperately to be noticed by him. Because he knew by then. There was no denying it. He couldn’t help it.

Louis knew for sure, no more doubt, ever since he felt that sinking feeling in his stomach driving him out of his dorm that night, down the path, cutting through the quad, and to the evening’s venue, to which he had never been before, just to buy cheap tickets to see a student perform solo on a Friday night. Louis knew ever since Styles climbed on the shaky stage in his stupid ripped jeans, loose tank top, and snapback. Louis knew ever since he first saw him and all the breath was knocked out of him as if someone had squeezed his lungs until they deflated like popped balloons.

Louis knew it was over when Styles met his eyes mid-croon and he smiled. His eyes twinkled as he stopped the song halfway through just to slip off his stool and crouch down on his knees at the edge of the stage, caressing Louis’ shocked face in his big paws. Not stroking his cheeks—just holding him there. Looking at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars.

There were confused mutters and disbelieving gasps in the audience of college students but Louis didn’t hear a single thing. His ears were ringing with a high-pitched sound that was deafening enough to make him only focus on the man in front of him. His  _ soulmate. _ It didn’t help that Styles was already lit up by the bright lights shining on him, illuminating him in a halo of luminosity, making him otherworldly. Godly.

Louis was stunned into stillness but Styles sure wasn’t. He smiled gently and ran his fingers along Louis’ jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath his armpits and heaved Louis up onto the tables with ease. Louis stumbled, but Styles steadied him, and met his lips with a kiss.

Louis didn’t want to kiss him. Not completely. Only the part of him screaming  _ SOULMATE! _ wanted to kiss him. The rest of him just wanted to shrink away from the embarrassment and have the earth swallow him up without hesitation. He had spent more than a year grimacing every time someone brought up Styles in casual conversation, gagging when he heard people talking about how beautiful he was, even though it was true, and vehemently denying his friends insistence to introduce them. He didn’t want anything to do with the ultra-wealthy frat boy heartbreaker who got everything he wanted without even having to ask.

But there he was, in front of a crowded room full of his classmates watching on as Harry fucking Styles pulled him on the unstable stage, caught him as he stumbled, and attacked him in a passionate kiss. The music had been forgotten, guitar trapped between them and digging into Louis’ tummy, and not even the crowd cared anymore to hear the songs. Soulmatching was much more fascinating.

The audience must have found it just as astounding when Louis yanked himself back out of Styles’ fervent grasp and bolted off the stage.

Not looking back, not even just once.

  
  


Louis is stupid to think he can fall in love with someone else when his soulmate is right there, watching him with dangerous eyes.

Still, he tries.

A college party full of people high on ecstasy tablets and/or tripping LSD isn’t the best place to find love but Louis is desperate at this point. Not that he thinks he’ll find lasting love, but. He’ll take a night of messy, fauxly anonymous sex over the alternative: hiding alone in his room thinking about what he wants and hates at the same time. He wants him, hates him, and hates that he wants him.

He hates that Styles wants him too, wants him back just as bad. Hates that Styles has probably had thoughts about him, has probably imagined taking him to bed and fucking him hard, has probably imagined Louis begging for it and thanking him when he’s done and telling him _ I love you more than anything, _ as if Styles needs someone else to tell him that. He has the whole university wrapped around his little finger, everyone he meets falling at his feet either because of his money or his beauty or his stupidly alluring charisma.

Louis doesn’t want Styles to think he has any sort of claim over him even though he totally does. He doesn’t want Styles to follow him out at night to all-campus parties, get a drink at the makeshift bar and just watch over him as Louis flits through the crowd, desperate to find someone to pull him to the bathroom or any unlocked room for a little privacy and help him forget everything for a while. Desperate to find someone who won’t care that he’s already soulmatched. He doesn’t want Styles to have that angry, hurt, resigned look to his eyes every time Louis finds someone and kisses him in front of everyone to the sound of trance music with heavy base and undulating lights that make the world feel a lot less real.

He doesn’t want to glance back on a whim and catch sight of Styles leaning against the wall, red cup in hand, watching over him like he’s protecting him. Like he’s waiting for Louis’ rebellious phase to end so he can come crawling back to him and they’ll live happily ever after in soulmate heaven. He doesn’t want to find himself in bed with a cocky, selfish bastard even if he so happens to be the one person on earth who’s  _ made for him. _

He doesn’t want Harry Styles, no matter how badly his soul aches just to be closer to its other half.

All Louis wants is a choice.

It’s the one thing he doesn’t have.

  
  


The night ends as it always does, with Louis crumpled to the gross floor of the dinghy dorm bathroom. The guy he brought with him is heaving into the toilet, and the sounds of puke splashing against the bowl are heard over the music thudding from outside the door. When he pulls back, his skin is pale as a sheet and his eyes are red and watery, from being sick and also being high. He’s an absolute mess—he looks like how Louis feels inside.

“Sorry,” the guy mutters, and Louis still hasn’t caught his name but that’s alright. He’d rather not know. It’s difficult to hear him anyways, over the sound of the crowd outside.

The ache inside Louis’ body is swallowing him whole and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. Feeling a little bit bad for moping in his own corner, he crawls across the floor to the man’s side. “It’s okay,” Louis whispers quietly. He rubs his hand up his back comfortingly, feeling no spark, no warmth. Nothing. Just like ten minutes ago when they were fucking against the wall and all Louis could think about was how he felt when he met Styles’ eyes earlier, that jolt of electricity through him that made him feel weak and nauseous when he forced himself away. He rubs his hand up and down the guy’s back in soothing movements and steadies him when he sways dangerously. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he breathes, slumping forward.

Louis feels bad. “Are your friends here? Do you have someone to get you home?”

“Came alone.”

Someone starts pounding on the door and Louis knows who it is without question. Judging by the guy’s facial expression, he knows too.

Louis sighs lightly, letting a loose, apologetic smile take over his face. “I’ll help you get home then, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Someone’s still pounding on the door. Louis buttons his jeans and helps his nameless acquaintance do the same. They stand up unsteadily and Louis swings the door open to see Styles standing there, expression unreadable. Louis doesn’t have his car here but he knows someone who does.

“We’re bringing him home,” Louis announces, brushing right past Styles and dragging the inebriated man with him, leading him through the messy crowd, not waiting for his soulmate to follow. He finds the black Maserati easily because it stands out so glaringly from the rest of the cars in the area, because this is a college campus for fuck’s sake, and deposits the man in the backseat.

The car ride is as awkward as it could be, with Louis’ unnamed hookup quietly giving Styles directions to his apartment. He lives just off campus but the streets are confusing and it takes longer to get there than it should. It feels like hours. The whole time Styles is fidgeting as if there’s something under his skin—probably Louis. Well, in that case, Louis calls tonight a successful night. Any night where he annoys Styles is a good one.

Styles is the one who walks Louis’ “friend” to the door and makes sure he gets inside alright, before getting back in the car and shutting the door hard. The sound alone conveys annoyance, frustration, and anger.

The world falls silent. Louis doesn’t dare break it.

Styles drives him back to his residence hall and they don’t say a thing about it.

Only when they’re parked in front of Louis’ dorm that he even opens his mouth.

“Why do you even try? You know you’re never going to find what you need from any of them.  _ I’m _ what you need.”

Louis has heard this spiel many times before. It always ends with Louis yelling at him, telling him,  _ Yeah, well I don’t want you. _

He’s feeling a little tired tonight, though, from a stressful week of school and then a crappy night out with a less than desirable bathroom rendezvous. So he just sits still, doesn’t answer, and doesn’t make to get out of the car, letting his eyelids flutter closed. If he fell asleep here, would Styles carry him out of the car and to his dorm, and tuck him into bed? The idea is tempting.

“Lou? Are you alright?”

Not tempting because he wants Styles to touch him, but tempting because his legs feel weak and he’s too tired to move. It would be nice to have someone strong carry him up the stairs and deposit him in bed.

“I told you not to call me that,” he grumbles.

No, it’s definitely that Louis is just exhausted. He would want to be carried up to his room no matter who was sitting next to him. He’s certain.

Styles ignores him. “Do you wanna come back to mine?”

See, this is why Louis hates him. He knows Louis is exhausted and he’s trying to take advantage of him. He doesn’t care that Louis is sleepy and sad and would like to be carried up the stairs. All he’s trying to do is get Louis in his bed so they can have soulmate sex and he’ll get to tell all his friends about what it felt like, and if it’s any better than the normal sex he has all the goddamn time.

“Fuck off,” Louis mutters, yanking on the door handle until the door swings open and he nearly tumbles out. He slams the door shut hard, hoping that’s the end of it, but it’s not, because Styles gets out too.

“Let me at least walk you up.”

He does. When they’re standing outside his door, Louis is tired enough to give into the hug that Styles offers. It isn’t his proudest moment, but his embrace is warm and comforting, and it soothes that aching in his chest just for a moment.

  
  


After Louis ran away from his soulmate that first time, bolting off the stage and losing himself in the maze of sidewalks on campus, he was in denial.

For the half hour it took to find his way out of whatever loop of pathways he was stuck in and bring himself back to his dorm, he had convinced himself that Styles wasn’t actually his soulmate. He had convinced himself that the momentous feeling building up in his chest wasn’t the mark of finally matching, but rather just some unexplained phenomenon which he was overdramatizing to the point of thinking Styles was the one. It isn’t an exact science and the feeling could’ve very well been wrong. He wasn’t the one.

When you meet your match, and look into their eyes for the first time, a mark begins to form somewhere on your body: your soulmate’s name written in their own handwriting. It’s like a tattoo, only even more permanent, and it takes a few hours to become fully visible. There’s nothing to do to remove it, and you have no choice of what it looks like or where it lands.

Before Louis was in this mess, he always felt sorry for the people with soulmarks in unfortunate places. For example, on their face. The bridge of their nose or the space of their forehead. Or perhaps somewhere more embarrassing, like their armpit, or on their ass.

Personally, he had always like the idea of a private mark in an innocent place, perhaps on the ribcage or the hip or maybe the inner side of a pinkie finger. There’s something intimate about having your soulmate’s name written on you delicately in a place that isn’t always visible, something Louis has always found captivating and sweet. When he was younger he used to imagine one day gaining a mark on his breastbone, right over his heart, where he could look down at it whenever he wanted to and feel loved.

Because fate has never been on Louis’ side, that’s not how it happened.

After running away, he stumbled into the bathroom on the floor of his dorm and found himself afraid to examine himself in the mirror. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most likely because everyone was already out enjoying their Friday night while Louis was having the biggest crisis of his life.

It didn’t happen as expected. He didn’t have to remove any clothes, check between his fingers, or even turn around. When his eyes landed on his reflection, he saw it immediately.

There. In thick, undeniable script, slanty and swoopy. A little bit ridiculous for how fancy it looked. Louis loathed it immediately.

There. Right in the middle of his throat, on his Adam’s apple. Big and unavoidable. He felt like it was visible from space, it was so obtrusive.

He couldn’t see it without looking in a mirror but everyone else could.

_ Harry. _

  
  


Nowadays, Louis lies in bed late at night, unable to sleep due to the ache in his chest that never really goes away, and runs his fingers over his mark.

He wonder’s where Harry’s mark is but he has never asked, because talking to him about the fact that they’re soulmatched would make it so unbearably  _ real. _

  
  


They soulmatched in the beginning of October. The only good thing about that is the promise of cooler weather, allowing Louis to constantly wear scarves to cover up his mark without looking totally ridiculous. Most people know what’s beneath it, though they’re too kind or awkward about it to say anything.

Styles knows. At least, he must know. He’s never said anything about it because Louis never gives him the chance. The scarves aren’t exactly inconspicuous. Everyone knows.

He isn’t wearing a scarf when he goes to a party, gets fucked again by some random guy, and has Styles drive him home at the end of the night. It’s probably the first time he’s ever seen it up close and Louis witnesses the moment he notices because his breath catches in his throat and he stares a little too long before looking back to the road. Louis curls his body into the seat and stares out the window, wondering when and why his life turned to hell.

They’ve never discussed Louis’ hatred for him but it’s been painfully obvious ever since he ran away the night he was kissed in front of hundreds of people. When Louis thinks about it he still feels that same humiliation he felt that night, the humiliation Harry Styles put him through. The ache in his heart is still there as well. He wonders if his soulmate feels it too, or if it’s just some unlucky side effect of matching that only he is graced with.

They’ve pulled up to Louis’ dorm building when he opens his big ugly mouth. “Lou-”

Louis puts his hand up, dismissing him as if he is nothing. “Don’t. Don’t say anything and don’t fucking call me that.”

“Please-”

Louis gets out of the car faster than he ever has, and slams the door shut hard.

He spends his night curled up in bed, two hands clasped tightly over his throat to hide his mark even in the darkness.

  
  
  


HARRY

 

Being loved is a given once you find your soulmate.

At least, it’s supposed to be a given. Harry always thought it was a given.

Apparently it’s not, because Harry’s soulmate hates him more than anything. He’d rather die than be with Harry. This is something he’s said on many occasions.

Some people wouldn’t mind that much, maybe, but for someone like Harry who has been dreaming of matching his entire life, it feels like a mountain of despair he just can’t surmount.

In the beginning, there was only a moment of bliss before it all came crashing down—before love slipped away from him like water falling through the spaces between his fingers. There was nothing for him to do about it.

  
  


After the concert, Harry remembers, he had sat down on the floor of the back room, too shocked to even move. It wasn’t until one of his friends approached him carefully and asked if it was real that he actually checked for a mark to make sure what he was feeling was actually soulmatching and not just a weird twist of fate and feelings.

He couldn’t find it at first. All he felt was relief that it wasn’t on his face, really, but he was also afraid he wouldn’t have a mark at all. Afraid that the nameless boy he spotted in the front of the crowd wasn’t actually his soulmate. Afraid the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life wasn’t his to have at all.

Harry had already stripped naked and was standing in front of the full-length mirror, examining his body in full. Not on his feet, ankles, shins, calves, knees, thighs… not anywhere near his crotch, his v-line, hips, stomach, ribcage, chest… not on his hands, fingers, arms, shoulders, not on his back either, his spine, or his ass. He couldn’t see the back of his neck so he had Liam look for him and Liam said there was nothing there.

A sinking feeling like despair began to encompass him. After experiencing such a pull he had never felt towards another person before in his life, it felt wrong to consider that the stranger might not be his match. He desperately wanted the man with blue eyes and swoopy brown hair to be his match. He had already fallen in love with his small curvy body, and the way his eyes twinkled with stars. The way his lips felt when they were on Harry’s. The way he melted into his hold, like he felt so safe and cared for in that moment, so trusting of Harry that he felt he could let Harry keep him upright, no fear, no doubt.

Liam was the one who found it.

“Hang on Haz, here it is.” His fingers brushed away Harry’s hair from his right ear, holding it out of the way so Harry could see in the mirror.

There, hidden beneath his curls and tucked behind his ear, in thin, boyish scrawl, the letters tiny but not compact:

_ Louis. _

  
  


Harry keeps his mark hidden not in any way because he’s ashamed of it, because he’s not ashamed of it, he’s  _ proud  _ of it. He keeps it hidden because it feels private. Something intimate he wants to keep only for himself and his soulmate.

There’s only part of him that wants to show it off because of how proud he feels for finding his match. For being in love. These feelings are dampened by the fact that his match doesn’t want him back. But he tries not to let it bother him too much. He knows Louis will come around eventually. At least, he hopes he will. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he gives up hope.

  
  


The night it happened, Liam reassured Harry by saying Louis was probably just freaked out and needed a little time to let it sink in. Finding your soulmate was a big deal and most people didn’t find theirs so young. Some people didn’t find theirs at all. Like Harry’s mother. Harry agreed and decided to give Louis the night to calm down.

The next day, he skipped class to find Louis instead. He had never seen him before last night, obviously not in person but also not in pictures either. Has never even heard of him, even. Their university is big so that makes sense. Harry just felt a little bad because he’s one of the most well-known people there, due to his family’s money and his social status, so Louis had probably known of him for a while now. He wondered what Louis thought of him. Hoped he thought something good of him.

He came prepared, having asked a secretary for any information she could give him on a boy named Louis. It would’ve been shady and worrisome, but he was still glowing with the aftereffects of kissing his soulmate for the first time and once he explained the situation and showed her his mark, she had helped him track him down.

He wanted to get flowers but a bouquet of roses seemed a bit over the top so he bought the bouquet but left it in his car, only bringing one flower in with him. Louis seemed like the type of person who didn’t like to cause a scene, which was a bit unfortunate because the previous night was perhaps the biggest scene that could’ve been caused by soulmatching. So many people on campus were talking about it. Harry noticed the whispers as he walked past groups of people, noticed the curious stares trying to figure him out. He hoped his soulmate didn’t mind too much.

He waited outside Louis’ lecture, not having the guts to go inside and interrupt, even though that was now an acceptable thing to do given Louis was his soulmate. He leant against the wall and tried to think of what he was going to say, but couldn’t really come up with anything. All he really wanted was to wrap his arms around Louis and squeeze him tightly. He didn’t even need to kiss him. He just wanted to hold him. To feel their heartbeats aligning together.

So he stood waiting, wearing a soft black button-up tucked into his favorite black trousers with pale pink pinstripes, and the same Gucci loafers he wears all the time. He wanted to look nice. He wanted to make a good impression.

As it turns out, it didn’t matter what Harry looked like. Louis hardly even looked at him,.

The smile melted off Harry’s face as soon as he realized what was happening.

Louis didn’t want him.

Heart thudding in his chest, heavy weight sinking in his stomach, he tried to give him the rose anyway. He wouldn’t take it.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Just- don’t.”

Louis ran away again. Not actually running but that’s what it felt like. He turned around and bolted, disappearing in seconds.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t chase after him without feeling like a creep, so he didn’t. But he wanted to.

  
  


They kept running into each other. Sometimes Harry made it happen on purpose but a lot of times he didn’t even mean to do it. It felt like the universe was desperate to get them together. Harry could relate.

They would see each other in the dining hall, the library, and random study places around campus. Harry always stopped to say hi but Louis would never give him the time of day. Harry tried to be blase about it, pretending not to care, pretending to be confident. They only talked about it once when Harry finally cornered him and gave him no place to run, demanding an answer.

It was at a party. Harry’s frat’s party. Why was Louis even there, if he was avoiding Harry so badly? It made no sense. Harry set his drink down on the countertop and rushed towards Louis immediately upon seeing him. His back was towards him but still the sight of him took Harry’s breath away.

He was wearing skinny jeans and an oversized sweater with a collar high enough that it covered his neck. Harry hadn’t seen it yet but it was a good guess that his mark was there, somewhere. He found himself fantasizing about what it looked like, imagining his name on Louis’ skin. He pulled himself out of the dangerous thought process by instead focusing on his body, his thick thighs looking great in his jeans, the way the curve of his waist was visible even through the baggy sweater, how he let the sleeves fall down to cover his hands. He looked so beautiful and so out of place.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Harry set his hand on Louis’ shoulder and turned him around, pressing him against the wall. His movements were gentle and soft, careful not to hurt him or upset him. Making sure Louis could escape if he wanted to, even though he didn’t want to see him go.

He dropped his grasp from Louis’ shoulders but set one hand on the wall beside his head.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, aiming for easy confidence. The term of endearment was purposeful and honest but it sounded sleazy when he said it, and he immediately regretted it. The worry he had felt for days was seeping into his voice and he knew Louis could hear it too. It made him feel vulnerable and he hated that, but he couldn’t help it. “We’re matched! We’re- We’re soulmates.”

“It’s a mistake,” Louis had said, curling his arms uncomfortably up to his chest. One hand traveled up in front of his neck like he was protecting himself. He was glaring, too, probably at the nickname. “You know it doesn’t always work right.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Everyone had heard the stories of mismatches, of soulmates falling out of love and finding other people they wanted to be with. The stories of infidelity and greed, the gruesome ones that ended in betrayal.

Harry felt betrayed, too. He knew that was dramatic but he couldn’t help it. He was so depressed over it. His heart was aching constantly.

“You don’t love me, baby?” he had asked, when Louis had said that.  _ It’s a mistake. A mistake.  _ It hadn’t felt like a mistake when they had kissed. He didn’t understand.  _ Baby  _ felt more real, more right.

“I don’t.” Even though Louis whispered, Harry could still hear him. “I don’t love you. And don’t call me that.”

Harry was so stunned at hearing those words, he remained very still and couldn’t move even if he tried. Louis took in his silence, bit his lip, and ducked beneath Harry’s arm. Harry watched him leave for the millionth time. He had his hands clutching his neck like he was afraid of someone hurting him.

Or maybe it was the mark he felt, burning his skin. The feeling of love that was supposed to be there, but wasn’t.

The certain emptiness that came with it all.

  
  


It became clear, after a few weeks, that Louis was dead set on falling in love with someone else. Someone who wasn’t Harry.

He dated four separate people within twenty-four days. None of them worked out. After that, he began going out at night to parties and clubs that were further away from campus for the sake of anonymity. No one on campus would go near Louis because they knew he belonged to Harry, no matter how much Louis tried to hide it or deny it.

Harry went out at night to try to find him. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if Louis was predictable or if soulmatching gave Harry an extra sense to help find him, to help protect him. He drove him home when he got too wasted to take care of himself. The only times Louis went with him without putting up a fight were when he was too exhausted to even try to argue.

It was weighing on him. Harry couldn’t keep this up much longer. His mental health was slipping and so were his grades. He hardly had time for schoolwork with everything that was going on with his family and now Louis too. Part of it had to do with always making sure Louis was okay, but most of it was just the heavy depression he felt pressing on his chest from the moment he woke up in the morning to the time his eyes shut at night.

It was difficult to distract himself. At night he would lie in bed with his fingers pressed to his mark behind his ear, stroking back and forth. It became a bit of a coping strategy, because the action made him feel closer to Louis even without him there. Mostly, it calmed him.

It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had.

  
  
  


LOUIS

 

Styles isn’t giving up. It’s fucking annoying, and it’s driving Louis crazy.

The soulmatch makes Louis love him but he doesn’t want to love him. He hates him, too, in a way, for who he is. He doesn’t like arrogant boys who aren’t used to not getting what they want. Louis can’t stand people like that.

Their friend groups end up kind of morphing together. Louis is friends with Niall who is friends with Liam who is friends with Styles. That’s how it happens. That’s how Louis and Niall end up on the doorstep of the frat on a Friday night. Louis can’t believe he’s doing this.

A pledge opens the door and lets them in once Niall says who they are. He eyes Louis curiously like he’s heard a lot about him. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Styles talks shit about him all the time.

To be fair, Louis talks a lot of shit about him too. But only because… only because he has to make sure people know he isn’t soft for Harry Styles, even if they are soulmates. He can’t deal with arrogant frat boys who act like the world will fall at their feet if only they just ask. Louis doesn’t want to be a pushover, doesn’t want to be easily swayed by something as tedious as love. Something as fucky as  _ fate. _

They go to the gathering room and find it mostly empty of people except for Liam and Styles. There are a few guys around the edges, studying or on their phones. Everyone looks up at Louis, though. Even Styles. Especially Styles.

His gaze is piercing and unsteadying. Louis would call his glare cold but it makes his skin burn so he doesn’t think that’s exactly the right phrasing.

Liam breaks the tension by greeting them and inviting them in, telling them to have a seat and choose a movie. Louis drags Niall over to the loveseat before he can even think about ditching him, because he’s so afraid of having to sit next to the person he hates so much. Styles won’t even look at him now. He thought that would be for the best but it doesn’t feel very good.

Louis doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all because he’s too busy having an internal freak-out sesion. He can’t even decipher which movie they decided on. It’s too distracting to have his awful soulmate sitting only a few feet away, looking unfairly handsome in a white t-shirt and a pair of addidas joggers.

There’s an obvious elephant in the room but no one says anything about the fact that under Louis’ scarf is Harry’s name permanently etched onto the skin of his neck.

When Louis thinks about it too hard, it feels like a dog collar. Like a brand on his skin telling the world he belongs to Harry. He doesn’t want to belong to anyone.

The end of the movie shows the hero soulmatching with the beautiful girl he saved at the last minute. Her mark is below the curve of her breast while his is on his inner wrist. It makes Louis feel sick watching them hold each other close and declare their love, so he quietly excuses himself and escapes to the bathroom.

Only he doesn’t know where the bathroom is. He wanders around the house for a long time. Every door is closed.

There are footsteps behind him. For an awful moment he hopes it’s his soulmate. Emotions rush at him like bullets and he’s so confused about what he feels, he doesn’t know what to do. He turns around to the sound of Liam’s voice.

“It’s downstairs. Let me show you.”

Louis follows Liam down the stairs, to the basement. To break the stilted silence, he comments, “Only one bathroom for how many guys? And it’s in the basement?”

Liam laughs a little, leading him past two ping pong tables and an L-shaped couch that looks like it’s seen better days. “Nah, we have three upstairs actually. But only brothers and their matches are allowed up there. And we have forty-two brothers in house right now.”

“But I’m-”

“You’re Harry’s match, I know. I could’ve let you upstairs, but I wanted to talk to you in private, actually.”

“About what?” He knows about what.

“About Harry.”

“I don’t- I’m not-” Louis sputters, making to leave. He doesn’t even have to go to the bathroom anyways.

“No, Louis, please. Hear me out.”

Louis shakes his head but remains still. He doesn’t like Liam very much right now but he still respects him enough to refrain from fleeing, no matter how badly he wants you.

“I’m not here to judge you or say I know anything about your situation, because I don’t. I don’t know your reasons for loathing Harry and frankly it doesn’t matter. I just- I want you to give him a chance. I  _ need  _ you to give him a chance.”

“Why?” Louis spits. “Why do  _ you  _ need me to give him a chance?”

“Because he’s my best friend, and this whole thing is tearing him apart, and I can’t stand to see it. He’s so upset, Louis, please, you have to understand. You have to listen to me. He needs you-”

“No.  _ No. _ You’re not guilting me into this. You have  _ no idea _ what happened.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but if you just- If you just tell me, or- fuck- just tell Harry, for Christ’s sake, tell him what he did wrong- then you’ll be able to work it out and everything will be okay. I just- I mean this in the best way possible, but I think you have to grow up a little bit and realize that this is the rest of your life you’re affecting right now by denying him.”

Louis is stunned for a moment. He hadn’t expected something so ignorant coming from Liam of all people. Liam is smart and kind and usually he doesn’t say shit like this. It sounds like something Styles would say. “What the hell, Liam? That’s fucking shit and you know it.”

“Louis, please, give him a chance!”

“Why? Why should I give him a chance?”

“Because he loves you! He’s your soulmate!”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Louis hisses, turning around and storming up the stairs.

  
  


Louis may not be an angel, but he sure as hell isn’t cruel.

This is the only explanation he has for why he answers his phone when he sees Harry is calling at midnight on a cold, windy Tuesday night.

Harry got his number only a few days after their disaster soulmatching. He had never called, though, only texted. Louis always ignored him. If he was cruel he would’ve blocked his number. If he was cruel he wouldn’t answer when he called. He isn’t cruel, though.

“Styles,” Louis sighs, because he still can’t say his real name out loud. It feels impersonal to say it like this. Louis likes impersonal. Impersonal is safe. Safe is not loving Harry Styles. Louis wants to be safe.

He’s expecting a snarky response for not using his first name. Instead he gets the sound of shaky, labored breathing. For one awful moment he thinks that maybe Styles accidentally called him while nailing someone else. Dread pools in his stomach easily like it has been doing a lot lately. Is that what Styles feels every time Louis seeks out other guys at parties?

He’s about to hang up when Styles finally speaks.

“Lou, I- I don’t feel very good- I-” He’s cut off by a sharp sob and the sound of a whimper, with that same labored breathing.

Louis is confused and worried and he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He sounds like he’s drunk and while it wouldn’t be a first for a weeknight, Louis knows he has a big exam tomorrow and he would never get wasted before an exam, and… Something feels wrong. The ache in his chest gets worse, overwhelming him. “What’s wrong? Who are you with right now? Is everyone okay?”

“I’m alone,” he gasps like he’s out of air, like he’s drowning. “I’m alone. I feel so sick- I don’t know what to do- Please, Lou- Please make it stop.”

Louis is out of bed and is outside running down the sidewalk before he even realizes what he’s doing, heading in the direction of the Greek houses. He stays on the phone, listening to the panicked breathing of his soulmate the whole way there.

  
  


The pledge who’s been given night duty minding the door eyes him wearily.

Louis’ mind is a mess but he has to get to his soulmate. He has to make sure he’s okay. “I need to see Styles.”

“Who?”

“Harry,” Louis bites.

“And who are you?”

“An acquaintance.”

“Sorry, no can do.” He shuts the door.

Well, almost shuts it. Louis stops it with his hand first, fingers spread as wide as they will go, pressing hard against the old wood. He grits his teeth, about two seconds away from forgoing formalities and just barging inside by use of force. Excessive force. Any force. “I’m his soulmate.”

There’s a heavy pause where the pledge tips his chin in curiosity. Meanwhile, Louis jitters impatiently, calculating the best way to shove inside. “Really?” he asks, interested, like he’s heard a lot about Louis and is now curious to see the kind of person he really is. “I need to see your mark to let you in.”

Louis rolls his eyes and yanks his scarf down hastily, feeling stupid. He’s never shown it to anyone, not even his mother. The feeling of unfamiliar eyes on a part of him so humiliating and personal makes his skin crawl. “Will you let me in, then?”

“That’s an interesting mark,” the pledge muses, partly casual but mostly inquisitorial, as if he feels entitled to such conversation. Slow and relaxed like he has all the time in the world to investigate and discuss, when Louis is standing right there demanding to be let in immediately because it’s a god damn emergency. “Usually they’re not that big, right? Does it bother you?”

The glare Louis levels him with is enough to get him to open the door and let him in. He practically runs up the stairs and down the hall. Not knowing which room is his is difficult but when he listens closely he can hear someone crying on the other side of the last door on the left. Louis would bet his life that that’s his soulmate. The door is unlocked and he pushes inside, closing it behind him without even thinking.

The room is dark aside from the fairy lights above the messy bed. It’s such a girly thing, it almost makes Louis pause. His soulmate is standing in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. One arm is wrapped around his stomach like he’s hugging himself and the other is covering his ear. Tears are streaming down his face and his skin is splotchy and red. He’s breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and shifting back and forth on his feet.

Louis’ mouth drops open at the sight of him. “H-Harry?”

He whirls around at the sound of Louis’ voice. “Lou?”

“What’s wrong?”

Louis has never seen him like this before. Never seen him cry, never seen him completely break down. He’s confused, and wonders what happened to set him off like this, and why there’s an ache in his heart like he’s feeling the exact same thing.

He surprises him by stumbling across the room and crumbling into Louis’ arms. Louis has no choice but to catch him and wrap his arms around him to hold him up.

He thinks that maybe Harry’s having a panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, sniffling into Louis’ neck and getting tears and snot and spit everywhere. Louis hardly cares or even notices. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“What for, love?” he asks softly, rubbing his back. Supporting all of his weight is getting tiresome so he begins to slowly walk them to the bed. His hands are shaking and he feels sick to the stomach because something is  _ wrong  _ and he doesn’t know what.

“I just- I don’t know what’s happening, but it just- All of a sudden everything felt like… I don’t know what-” he hiccups, “I don’t know what I did wrong, but I- I’m so sorry- I’m so sad- I just want you to  _ love  _ me. W-what’s happening?”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Louis answers quietly, feeling a lot less sure than he sounds. “Do you have them often?”

“It’s never- Never happened before-”

“Alright, it’s okay. We’ll get you to calm down, and everything will be okay. Just hang on. We’ll get through this.”

He gets Harry to sit down on the bed and sits down beside him, keeping his arm around his shoulder. Harry reaches out and fumbles around, searching for something. It isn’t until his hand finds Louis’ that he understands. He interlaces their fingers and holds his hand tightly, both of them shaking too much for it to be healthy.

Louis holds him until he falls asleep, still crying.

  
  


The day they matched was not the day Louis first saw him.

There was a day much earlier that Louis never talks about. A time when he saw Harry and felt that pull in his heart, telling him he was the one. In order to match, they needed to look into each other’s eyes. But Styles wouldn’t even look in his direction.

It happened at a party, at Harry’s frat. Louis was there with his friends and they were having a relatively good time getting drunk on cheap beer and a gross concoction of hard alcohol mixed with fruit juice. Louis saw him flirting with someone, hand on the wall above the girl’s head, leaning in. The spark of jealousy he felt was uncalled for until he felt the ache in his heart and knew what it meant.

They’ve been taught since they were toddlers to recognize when they finally met the one. Louis remembers how they’d always talk about it at school, reciting the signs and symptoms until everyone knew them by heart before the age of ten. He remembers the quizzes and exams asking about soulmates, all the research they’ve done and the studies they’ve read. He remembers everything because he’s been socialized to prioritize it, to always pay attention to the fluttering of his heart and the feeling of nausea in his stomach. To feel that pull deep in his core when the time comes. He recognizes the feeling easily because he’s been brought up to pay attention to it, to expect it eventually, and to cherish it. To celebrate it.

So he approached them. And he said something he knew both of them heard but only the girl turned to look at him and just laughed mockingly. Harry Styles didn’t even give him the time of day.

Going up to talk to a complete stranger wasn’t something Louis normally did. In fact, it was something he never did. So the fact that he was taking a risk and being courageous was a big deal. Then, to be rejected like that… It was a mistake he would never make again.

  
  


After that, Louis knew Harry was his soulmate, but there was still a bit of room for doubt and uncertainty, since they still hadn’t met eyes yet. He felt the pull in his heart but it could easily be passed off for something else.

Mostly, he pretended to remain in denial.

It was easier to pretend he didn’t want Harry when Harry didn’t want him back.

  
  


One thing Louis never learned in school is that staying away from your soulmate hurts like hell.

He never thought it would be so bad but here he is, lying in bed at night, one hand over his heart and the other digging into his mark, pain coursing through his body. Nothing would make it stop, nothing would even dull it, and he tried  _ everything. _ Warm baths, hot tea, pain meds. Curling into a ball. Lying facedown on the floor. Screaming into the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling.

Closing his eyes, and trying not to think.

He sleeps restlessly and painfully. His entire body feels like shit, like he has the flu but worse, and he feels dizzy and nauseous but it’s not  _ physical _ . The pain he’s feeling is real but the cause is in his mind and he’s determined to overcome it.

He doesn’t.

In the morning he feels so jaded, he can hardly get out of bed. Standing up doesn’t make him feel any better and neither does putting on clothes. He has an exam in a few days that he can’t just not study for, so he forces himself out of his dorm and to the library.

He’s sitting staring out the window trying to quiet his mind from the ugly intrusive thoughts telling him he’s so lonely, so so so fucking lonely, his heart aching for his other half and screaming at him for somehow messing this up, messing this up when it’s so fucking easy and somehow he still did it wrong. Somehow he messed up so badly even the person who was god damn created to fucking love him refuses to love him anyways.

He’s so unlovable, his soulmate wouldn’t even look at him. That’s what he has to remember when he feels the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his heart begin to thunder in his chest, for no apparent reason at all. The library is quiet as always and Louis is tucked between the bookshelves, sitting on the windowsill with a textbook propped up on his lap, and no one can find him here, he’s alone. But he feels the pooling sense of dreadful hope, the ache in his heart that yearns for something nearer now. He knows what it means, and he tenses, afraid.

The universe is a fan of humor. That’s why it created Louis to be hated by Harry Styles and to hate him in return. That’s why it puts them in the same place as much as possible, because it thinks it’s funny to torture Louis like this.

There are footsteps down the aisle of the library and Louis refuses to look up.

“Lou?”

Refuses to look up.

Refuses to look up.

Refuses to-

He looks up.

His soulmate is standing at the end of the aisle, palms turned outwards and open like he’s asking god for something. He’s about ten feet away and somehow the space between them seems both insurmountable and suffocating.

Harry looks tired too. Louis thinks of him and how he was panicking, how his hands were shaking and his eyes were crying hard, tears pouring down like rivulets, tears pouring everywhere. Now his face is clear but his eyes are tired and sad.

Louis wonders how much it hurts him but he’s certain it can’t be as bad as Louis feels, not with the way Louis knows now how unwanted he is no matter what Harry says, no matter how he tries to amend the way he never even looked in Louis’ direction when Louis was so certain he was the one, so certain they would have their happily ever after.

He was so wrong, it’s laughable.

“Lou, I- I didn’t even know- I’m sorry-”

Louis doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he looks away without inquiring further. Eyes back on the textbook in front of him.

Harry seems to be looking for some sort of book on the shelf and he ends up finding it at the end of the aisle, right next to Louis. Louis would accuse him of faking it, but it’s just the coincidence that soulmates always experience, the way the book is right by Louis elbow, so close to him Harry has to brush against his arm just to reach it.

The touch, even through two layers of clothing, lights a fire inside his body. He desperately wants more, and his mind flashes back to Harry panicking and how good it felt to hold his hands, to be close to him for once.

Harry used to be this big personality but now he just looks reduced to some depressed thing fading away. He still wears his typical designer clothes but they look duller close up and with the way his shoulders are slouched with exhaustion. His skin is sallow, his eyes rimmed red, the irises darker than they should be, under eyes swollen with lack of sleep and maybe the saltwater of tears. Maybe. His hair is unruly as always but messier in a way, and he just looks sad.

Louis feels sad, too. He just doesn’t think Harry has a right to feel sad.

“Um, Lou-” Harry begins, saying that stupid nickname again that no one should ever say because Louis hates hearing it so much, especially coming from Harry’s mouth. “I asked the librarian for someone to help with my French class and she said to find this aisle because there’s someone that could help? And of course- Of course it’s you because shit like this has been happening lately, and I’m just thinking-” he cuts off abruptly, his words a jumbled mess and none of them make sense anymore. “I just keep thinking it isn’t coincidence anymore. It’s fate, it has to be, we both know it. Please, Lou. Please.”

Louis regards him for a long, dreary moment.

“Fine.”

Harry’s brows shoot up in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll help you with French. But only for a little while.”

“Oh- okay,” Harry stutters, looking a mix of eager and frazzled. He’s never this unkempt but ever since the night he called Louis crying, he’s been acting so weird. So unlike his usual cocky self. He quickly gathers his things and helps Louis up, hands hovering by his shoulders like he wants to touch him but knows he isn’t allowed. He settles for carrying Louis’ books and helping him gather his papers. They walk together to one of the study tables in the back where no one can see them.

The light filtering in from the window beside them is silvery and it shows the dust floating softly through the air. The room smells of books which makes sense seeing as it’s a library, but Louis finds it comforting. They sit down across from each other and Harry silently retrieves his materials from his bag, pulling out worksheets and study guides.

“What d’you need help with?” Louis mumbles, mostly incredulous they’re really doing this right now. He’s sitting at a table in the back of the library. His soulmate is sitting across from him. They’re about to study French and pretend like nothing is wrong.

Pretending. They’re very good at that. Louis pretends a lot that he isn’t attracted to Harry at all. He pretends that he doesn’t crave to be close to Harry just as much as Harry clearly craves to be close to him, in that way that neither of them can help because it’s something that’s been bestowed upon them. It’s something that never gave them a choice in the first place.

Louis adjusts his scarf, pulling it up to his chin, just to be sure his mark isn’t visible. He notices Harry playing with the hair by his ear, twisting the curls between his fingers, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m just… I’m absolute shit at French. I have an exam next week and I don’t even know where to start, because I don’t know anything, so.”

Louis leans back in his seat, for once looking up at his soulmate sitting across from him. He looks just as tired as before, skin still pale and sallow, eyes still rimmed red like he’s been crying a lot lately. Louis can relate. Yet despite it all, he looks handsome, like he always does, and that frustrates Louis, both making him envious and even slightly angry. It isn’t fair, that Harry should be this desirable being that everyone wants to be with. It isn’t fair that he should have his choice of anyone in the world while Louis can’t even rely on his own goddamn soulmate to love him.

He taps his fingers on the table and tries not to let his contempt show. Despite his attractiveness and the cocky way he always acts, Harry Styles looks vulnerable now and Louis would be cruel to kick him when he’s down. Besides, he’s great at French.

“What level are you?”

“Intermediate. I started last year, but… I can’t remember anything. And like, this year we’ve done a lot of literature, and I’m so bad at it. So.”

The convenient thing is that Louis enjoys French literature. Loves it, even. Loves it so much he reads it for fun, sometimes, when he wants peace and quiet and solitude. Last semester he re-read Les Mis for the millionth time. His copy is so well-worn, the spine is cracked and the pages are nearly falling out, and the book is riddled with annotations and highlighter marks, but he loves it so.

“What’s the assignment?”

“The exam is on  _ Les Fleurs du Mal, _ and like, I’ve read it, but. I don’t think I understood any of it.”

“Oh,” Louis breathes, suddenly a little overwhelmed. He loves  _ Les Fleurs du Mal, _ remembers reading it years ago in class and how much he enjoyed it. It’s a collection of poetry in six parts, each with its own theme. “Um, I love Charles Baudelaire. So. You’re lucky.”

Harry smiles at him but it conveys something like,  _ Am I? Am I actually lucky? _ And it both makes Louis laugh and makes him feel a little uncomfortable too because he knows Harry isn’t just thinking about French literature, but about everything else too.

Louis doesn’t exactly know what to do or how to teach Harry, so they begin by going over the basics of the book. Louis quizzes Harry on the titles of each of the six sections and he struggles even with that.

“Les fleurs du mal. What does that mean?”

“Bad flowers?” Harry tries, fidgeting in his seat.

Louis stares at him. “Flowers of evil, Harry. Flowers of evil.”

“Oh.”

“Umm, okay,” Louis continues, forging on, wondering how Harry made it so far in his college education like this. “Say each of the six parts out loud and I’ll tell you what they mean.”

Harry flips to the appropriate page, and Louis watches his fingers, a little mesmerized.

“Spleen et Idéal,” he says aloud, and his pronunciation is a little off so Louis makes him repeat it a few times until he gets it right. It’s a cognate that means Spleen and Ideal, Louis tells him, and has him continue on.

_ Tableaux parisiens _ is Parisian Scenes, _ Le Vin _ means Wine,  _ Fleurs du Mal _ again is Flowers of Evil,  _ Révolte _ is Revolt of course, and  _ La Mort _ is Death. Judging by the amount of time it takes to get through just the titles alone, they have a lot of work to do.

Hours later, they’ve made a lot of progress, but Harry is in no way ready for his exam next week. They’ve been sitting at the table for so long, Louis’ lower back is beginning to ache, and he longs to lie down in bed but he finds he somehow doesn’t want to leave. It’s a strange feeling, being so at peace here, in this quiet corner of the library, repeating French phrases over and over again until they sink into his soulmate’s thick skull. It’s all soft voices practicing pronunciation and the melody of flipping pages and running fingers along the lines to keep their place.

Harry is sitting with one leg pulled to his chest, resting his head on his knee because he’s tired but he looks comfortable, he looks relaxed, maybe even happy. Which is funny, considering the past few hours should’ve been grueling, yet all they’ve felt is peaceful.

“Alright?”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, hugging his leg closer and looking more and more like he wants to take a nap. Louis wants to take a nap too and in a sudden flash his mind betrays him and considers an image of the two of them, curled up together and falling asleep. Louis pushes it out of his head as soon as it arrives, feeling flustered and strange, because he’s never really thought of anything like that before.

Mostly, when he thinks about Harry, and has these intrusive thoughts that make him want to fling himself off a cliff, he imagines typical soulmate things like having sex or getting married. Rarely does he imagine something he actually might enjoy, like quiet moments like these.

Now that he’s thought about it, though, he can’t stop, and it confuses him, because his heart is a muddled mess of anxiety, hatred, and longing. At least that’s what he’s interpreted it to mean, after all these months of wanting Harry and hating that he wants Harry, and trying so hard to deny his being this simple pleasure of being close to the one person on earth he’s made for, the one person he’s meant to love. The one person who’s meant to love him back, even though in reality he quite simply doesn’t.

“You’ve read this before,” Harry states, because yes, they’ve discussed this already. “Do you have a favorite part?”

Louis stills, fingers curling around the edge of the table before one of his hands reaches up to check if his scarf is still covering his neck. It is—it always is. He fiddles with it anyways, tucking his chin down slightly. He does have a favorite line but he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

There’s no way to escape, so he says it anyways, and turns it into a quiz for Harry so it doesn’t have to seem so personal. His voice comes out rough, raw: “ _ Ne cherchez plus mon cœur; les bêtes l’ont mangé. _ ”

It takes Harry a while to translate it, but he gets it in the end:

Seek my heart no longer; the wild beasts have eaten it.

As they pack up their belongings, the words are still ringing in Louis’ head. This time, they’re said in his soulmate’s voice.

  
  


Louis receives a text message the next morning begging him to help Harry study again.

He says yes only because he feels obligated. At least, that’s what he tells himself. They meet at the library again, at the same table in the back. Out of all places in the library, this is the most private, and perhaps the most beautiful. Louis is almost always surprised when the table is open because it’s such a great place to study.

This morning, sunlight is streaming in through the window and illuminating the top of the table in golden glow. Today it smells of books, like always, and coffee.

Harry is sitting there waiting for him and he has two to-go cups set on the table. As soon as Louis arrives he hands one to him with a shy smile.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” he murmurs, offering the coffee as a consolation prize. “I appreciate your help very much.”

Louis is still so confused because the Harry Styles he sees now is definitely not the Harry Styles of last month, or even a few days ago before he called crying like the world was crumbling down, and maybe it was, in a way. For as long as Louis has known him, he’s been loud and arrogant and always the center of attention, always silently demanding people look at him and regard him as something special.

Something has changed, though, in the way he’s much quieter now, much softer. Louis doesn’t like to think this change is caused by the pain they’ve both been facing even more so lately, the pain of separation. The pain of soulmates who are supposed to be together, but aren’t.

They’re together for now at least, for these short few hours in the morning as Harry reads aloud from  _ Les Fleurs du Mal,  _ stumbling over the words and mispronouncing most of them, only for Louis to correct him in a softer, gentler voice than he usually uses with Harry. It seems cruel to be harsh, so he isn’t, not now at least.

“What is  _ aimons-nous doucement _ ?”

Louis blushes, correcting Harry’s pronunciation as a way to stall. He fiddles with his coffee and then tells him quietly, “It means,  _ Let us love gently _ .”

  
  


They spend the next two hours studying as they did yesterday, with Louis having Harry read lines aloud and then translate them. After that, they focus on the type of questions Harry will be asked on his exam, and they work on writing responses. As Harry writes a few paragraphs in his journal answering one of Louis’ more extensive questions, brows furrowed in concentration, Louis pretends not to watch him.

After all this time, he’s never really seen this side of Harry. This quiet, careful side of him. The shyness with which he offered Louis coffee and apologized if it wasn’t made the way Louis liked was so unexpected, it was jarring.

And then the way he’s so earnest about studying and doing well in his classes… That was unexpected too. From all the rumors he hears of Harry, all the stories on what he gets up to on the weekends, how he uses his wealth to get what he wants, how he has people always falling at his feet just to have a small piece of his attention, he hadn’t expected him to act like this but here they are sitting quietly in the library, reading French poetry and analyzing it together.

At the end, Louis has to get to class, so he says goodbye and leaves his soulmate sitting there, practicing essays on French poetry. They make plans to meet up the next day and as Louis leaves he wonders why he’s agreeing to help Harry when there’s nothing in it for him.

He thinks he’s being used, manipulated even, to help him study and ace this exam, because he needs it so badly. And that makes Louis resent Harry a little, but he counters it with the fact that Harry could’ve gone to anyone else and they would’ve done it happily. Still, it’s clear Harry knows how easy Louis is for him, despite all the hatred and the fear. How he’ll always bend to his will because he can’t help himself no matter how hard he tries.

  
  


They meet up and study French all throughout the week. On Friday they meet in the evening, and the library is completely empty, save for the librarian who makes easy conversation with Louis while Harry works on the sixth section of poetry.

Afterwards, Louis joins him at their usual table and Harry smiles at him easily.

“Hey, um, Lou?”

Louis doesn’t want to answer to that but he does anyways, deciding to let the nickname slide. He’s been doing that a lot lately. All week, maybe.

“Yeah?”

“My frat is having another movie night and I was wondering if you wanna come? I think Niall will be there.”

A week ago Louis wouldn’t hesitate at all to say  _ hell no _ right to Harry’s face. Today he tries to come up with a suitable excuse. He can’t think of one.

“Um, okay.”

“Really?” Harry looks very surprised. Like he was offering to be kind but expected Louis to say no.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, trying not to feel lame about not having any legitimate Friday night plans. Honestly, he was envisioning himself going back to his dorm and watching cheap indie films on his laptop until it was late enough to suitably fall asleep on a Friday night. It seems like that’s not going to happen, unfortunately.

Harry tells him to come at eight o’clock, and that everyone’s supposed to bring snacks but it’s okay if Louis doesn’t because he’s coming on such short notice. Then they begin studying, and everything falls back into the norm of this week.

As Harry reads aloud much more fluently than on Monday, Louis nods along and corrects him when he messes up but mostly his mind wanders.

When he looks at Harry now he doesn’t see the person everyone always says he is. All Louis sees, really, is the way Harry bites his thumbnail when he’s deep in thought, or how he drums his fingertips on the table in silent rhythm as he reads. Or the way he repeats lines of poetry he really likes, which always end up being the sappy ones Louis likes too, though he has to pretend he doesn’t like them because having the same favorite lines is just strange, and something that shouldn’t happen. These are things Louis has never paid attention to before, so it’s startling to notice them now.

In French, Louis asks Harry a few questions about what he just read, and has him respond verbally. Despite the fact that they’re the only one’s in the library and there’s no one to disturb, they speak quietly, voices hushed and soft, just above a whisper. It feels strikingly intimate and Louis doesn’t know how to make the sensation go away, nor does he know how to make it go away.

“Ça a été?” Harry inquires at the end, asking,  _ How was that? _

“Merveilleux,” Louis responds honestly, “Bravo.”

The way Harry beams at the praise is a little too much to handle.

  
  


Later that night, Louis ends up stranded in the middle of the room trying to figure out where to sit.

All the seats on the couches are taken, filled with frat boys and the friends they invited. There are just enough seats for everyone already there, including Niall who is squished beside Liam. No one is sitting on the floor yet because of this.

Louis doesn’t mind being the only one to sit on the floor, especially since normally he would sit on someone’s lap or lie across everyone’s thighs on the couch, but that’s only with people he’s comfortable being annoying around. No one in Harry’s frat is included on the list of people who make Louis feel comfortable. He goes to sit on the floor but hears an abrupt noise of protest. Louis turns around to find that Harry is the one who made it. Because of course, who else?

“Sit here,” Harry says, and it’s not very noticeable but everyone quiets down a little and starts watching anyways. “I’ll sit on the floor.”

This must not be something Harry does often, given the overall silence of the room and the way everyone’s eyes are on him and Louis right now, flipping beneath the two like they’re watching a tennis match. Louis falters, before making the quick decision to just go with it, desperate to get the attention off of himself. He sits down in Harry’s seat and mumbles a quiet thanks as Harry moves to sit on the floor.

Unlike a normal person, he doesn’t move very far away at all. He waits until Louis is settled before he scooches backwards and presses his back against the couch, resting on it, so he’s right next to Louis’ legs. He doesn’t seem to mind that they’re touching, Harry’s outer arm pressed against the side of Louis’ leg, but Louis sure minds. He can’t get his thoughts off of it, to move onto something more productive and less damaging than  _ holy shit why is he touching me right now. _

Everyone else goes back to what they were doing before, while Louis tries not to panic. To comfort himself, he mindlessly readjusts the scarf around his neck, fiddling with it much too often. 

The movie starts and all Louis knows is that it’s a horror movie, because he can’t pay attention to anything right now. Anything except Harry, who is sitting at his feet and jumping at everything even though he keeps trying not to show how scared he is. At one point he actually turns his head to the side and presses his face against Louis’ thigh during a particularly scary scene, and all the while Louis is wondering why he can’t do that to the legs of the guy on the other side of him. All the while Louis is thinking that, and he’s burning with it, with the touches and the movements and all the thoughts that will never leave him alone.

On top of it all, there’s one of those stupid creepy soulmate drives again, like the time when Harry called crying and Louis knew he had no choice but to head over there and comfort him. There are some things their matching won’t let Louis get away with and one of those things is the fact that when Harry is distressed, Louis has to comfort him. It isn’t a question. There are not multiple options. It’s just something he has to do.

So he allows Harry to cling onto his leg and hide his face in the fabric of his joggers whenever something scary is happening. And then later, as the movie goes on, Louis slowly and without thinking reaches his hand down and brushes it through Harry’s hair. Just once at first.

Harry tenses immediately but he doesn’t move away. Louis does it again without thinking and that’s when Harry pushes his head up into Louis hand like a cat does when it wants to be petted more.

Still, there’s no option to stop. Louis feels like he’s on autopilot, like his soulmate instincts are in control right now. Kind of. He lets it happen anyways.

He isn’t even aware of the movie ending because he’s still too preoccupied with threading his fingers through Harry’s hair and petting him.

It becomes unclear of what everyone should do now that the movie’s finished. Louis is especially uncertain because he has his hand still stroking Harry’s hair and he finds that even though he  _ can  _ stop, he doesn’t  _ want  _ to. It feels too nice to be close to Harry like this, to finally have something settled within his chest that tells him this is how everything should be.

The guy sitting next to Louis gets up to do something somewhere else, leaving an open space on the couch. Harry notices and pulls himself up to sit there. Louis tries very ardently to keep at least a centimeter of space between them but all his efforts are wasted as Harry shifts his leg and suddenly their sides are pressed together completely. It’s casual and probably unintentional but it makes Louis feel simultaneously ablaze and surprisingly calm.

It’s the same soulmate shit over and over again, and Louis has been trying to deny it forever but he can feel his resolve weakening as each day passes, especially as he spends more and more time around the one person who’s the cause of all his distress. Usually he tries to pretend it isn’t real but right now he just can’t ignore the way he feels so much calmer beside Harry, like his entire being is finally at peace. The pain that is usually so bad it keeps him up at night finally begins to lull, especially when his nerves recognize the feeling of Harry’s body pressed up against Louis’ own.

“That was scary as fuck,” Harry mutters, leaning against the cushion and getting comfortable. He casually moves his arm so it’s resting on the back of the couch, his forearm very close to Louis’ neck. If Louis didn’t know any better he would think Harry’s making a move, but he’s like this with everyone. Chances are it is actually more comfortable for him to rest his arm along the back of the couch.

Louis shrugs but doesn’t respond, because he didn’t think it was scary at all but also he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it, actually.

“How are you not like, freaked out or anything?” Harry asks, leaning in.

Louis shrugs again, more exaggeratedly this time. Harry is trying to make conversation, obviously, but for some reason Louis can’t find anything to say. He just had his hand in Harry’s hair for an entire hour, for god’s sake. He should be able to carry a simple conversation.

“Surprised you stayed the whole time, Styles,” one of the guys pipes up, and suddenly Louis is very aware they’re in a room full of people, with a lot of eyes subtly watching them. He imagines it must be interesting, and eye-catching, to see two soulmates who can hardly even stand to be around each other. “He usually covers his eyes the entire time, or leaves halfway through,” the guy addresses Louis, explaining.

“Fuck off, Jarod,” Harry bites, and when he says this he turns his body to face the guy and his arm shifts down until it rests around Louis’ back, hand lightly resting against Louis’ shoulder.

Louis stiffens, more than a little bewildered both at the unfamiliar touch and the way that this Jarod guy is insinuating that Louis had something to do with Harry sticking around for the entire movie. It seems Harry doesn’t notice how rigid Louis is right now, and isn’t paying any attention to his limbs since one of them is essentially thrown around Louis’ shoulders casually. Or maybe it is purposeful, because how can someone do that on accident?

The funny thing is Louis from a few weeks ago would rather be caught dead than sit this close to Harry Styles. And now here he is, squished on the couch of the frat his soulmate just so happens to belong to, and they’re sitting together with virtually no space between them and Louis is only kind of panicking, completely internally.

Louis isn’t exactly participating in the conversation but it continues on without him. Harry is a main part of it and Louis doesn’t even feel that weird to be tucked under his arm, listening to the discussion. The topics merge from best and worst horror movies to best and worst movies in general, and then movie adaptations of books, and then books in general, and then essays and poetry and weirdly intellectual points and asides. All the while Harry adds in his thoughts and Louis listens and finds himself more and more surprised the more Harry speaks, not commandeering the conversation but rather making little interjections that totally add to the quality of conversation and actually make Louis stop and think about what he’s saying. And, like, it’s so weird, but he didn’t expect this from Harry. He knows it’s not fair of him to assume Harry is flat and lacking dynamic and depth of thought but he supposes that is what he thought of Harry originally, that he only cares about himself and thus only thinks of things that affect his own life.

Clearly, Louis was wrong. Harry is a consumer of media in all forms and when the conversation morphs from poetry to song lyrics and then to music in general, Louis has a front row seat to seeing how passionate Harry is about the things he likes.

He’s never seen him like this before and it kind of scares him because it makes him realize how little he knows about Harry, and how much more he could be missing. Of course he’s known Harry has an affinity for singing and playing guitar, and likes to perform, but never has he witnessed the depth at which he cares about this hobby which really turns out to be worth more than just a simple hobby.

Louis thinks of the night he was certain they were matched, how he went to the performance against his better judgement and stood on the dirty floor while watching his soulmate stand on the tables and perform the songs he wrote and wanted to share with the people who would listen. He remembers the poor lighting and how he was backlit and how it made him look like an angel, and how much that made Louis’ heart ache. He remembers weaving through the crowd of college students swaying to the music until he was right at the front, hands on one of the tables and looking right up at him.

He remembers how they finally made eye contact and what it felt like to match. He remembers the sensation of a cold river flowing through his veins and how it soothed him. He remembers the beat of his heart and how it suddenly felt so right.

He remembers Harry pulling him on stage and kissing him in front of everyone.

He remembers running away.

A great feeling of sadness washes over Louis and in the moment he finds himself sinking deeper into the couch, kind of wanting to disappear and fade away. He’s been so wrong about Harry, or at least he might be wrong about him but he isn’t sure and that uncertainty is what makes it particularly painful. For months he’s been confused and in pain and none of it makes sense except that he knows he’s been denying himself this whole time.

Sometimes when Louis lies in bed at night trying to fall asleep but being unable to because of the pain, he thinks about what it would be like to match with a truly awful person, like a serial killer or a rapist or something of that realm. He wonders what it must feel like to love someone like that and not be able to help it… He wonders if you would love them despite your best judgement and always knowing what they do is wrong, or if matching with them would make you understand them and maybe even justify their actions.

When Louis thinks of it like that it makes him feel melodramatic because his soulmate may not be the best person and he may not love Louis like Louis has been told he would, but he’s still here and he’s still okay. He isn’t evil. And Louis is just… Louis is just so confused because he doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t understand why he hated Harry in the first place but all he knows now is that he doesn’t like him and doesn’t trust him and he knows Harry doesn’t love him because how could he? How could he love Louis, especially after the way he wouldn’t even look at him that first day Louis approached him? How could he ever love him?

“What’s wrong?” Harry mumbles into his ear and Louis is suddenly brought back to the present, realizing he’s staring off at nothing and kind of curling in on himself. It isn’t obvious but Harry notices because of course he does—if there’s one thing Louis learned about him after this week of teaching him French, he’s learned that Harry is attentive, always. Especially when it concerns Louis.

Like on Thursday when Louis arrived to their typical study spot in the library and he was having a shit day, and somehow Harry knew. Even when Louis was trying to pretend everything was okay, Harry knew.

“I don’t know,” Louis whispers, and it’s true. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, all he knows is that he messed up somewhere along the way and now everything hurts like hell. “I’m sorry.”

Harry seems to assume Louis is apologizing for acting weird right now, or for needing to be comforted, because he tells him gently, “It’s alright,” and promptly wraps Louis up in a one-armed hug, pressing him tightly to his side. In reality Louis is apologizing for so many things he doesn’t know how to say, so many things he doesn’t even understand.

He’s apologizing for loving Harry and not loving him all at once, for hating him more than anything and hating that he hated him and also hating that he loves him and all this confusing shit that shouldn’t happen, the stupid feelings that shouldn’t be felt, because they’re soulmates and they’re supposed to love each other to hell and back and that’s supposed to be all.

“Do you wanna-” he pauses, seeming to reconsider. “Let’s go into the kitchen for a little?”

It’s a weird request but Louis uses it as an excuse to pull himself away from Harry’s warm, comfortable side. He nods in agreement, unsure of what’s going on, and follows Harry out of the room.

“Sorry, I just wanted us to be where there were less people,” Harry apologizes, leaning back against the countertop, fingers curling around it. He watches as Louis stands there helplessly. His eyes are imploring but not unkind and that’s what makes Louis ache even more. It’s visceral, at this point.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I just feel like shit,” Louis tries to explain, though really he doesn’t know why he feels this way. All he knows is that the aching feeling dulled a little while Harry was hugging him.

“It’s alright,” Harry repeats the sentiment from earlier. “Is there something specific that’s the matter?”

Louis just shrugs like he’s been doing all goddamn night because there’s no way for him to say  _ it hurts less when I’m near you _ . It’s hard enough for him to even think those words, let alone say them out loud.

Harry watches him for a little longer and then nods like he understands. “Do you wanna stay over tonight?”

“ _ What _ ?” Louis asks, almost choking.

Harry’s posture remains casual but his eyes are trained on Louis’ face, not really like he’s analyzing him, but like he’s paying attention. “It’s late, it’s been a long day, tomorrow’s Saturday, you’ve been drinking… You can stay the night, leave in the morning, as late as early as you want. It’s totally fine.”

“Harry…” Louis warns and tries not to feel what he feels when he says his name out loud, especially after so long of avoiding it at all costs, referring to him as nothing except Styles. Louis doesn’t remember when it changed but suddenly he realizes he hasn’t thought of him like that in a while.

“Seriously, it’s fine. I promise. Stay, please.”

Louis only had one beer. He’s virtually totally sober right now. He knows Harry knows that.

For someone who’s very good at denying himself simple pleasures and especially saying no to almost everything Harry has offered him ever since they matched, Louis finds himself having an awfully difficult time saying no right now. It’s not even that Harry’s argument is logical but just that Louis is so, so tired.

Not in the sleepy sort of tired but the exhausted kind, the kind of tired he feels in his bones. The kind of tired that only comes from an eternity of denying himself something his entire being craves more than anything: just the simple peace of being close to his soulmate.

Harry must see his resolve crack because he peels himself away from the countertop and waves Louis forward, already leaving the kitchen. “C’mon, let me show you my room.”

  
  


According to psychologists, failure is the second strongest human fear.

The first?

Fear of rejection.

Louis finds it fitting because rejection is a form of failure in itself, but it also plays on specific yet common distress of feeling  _ unwanted _ .

It’s something he never considered himself to be familiar with, until he felt that pull in his heart telling him to approach him.

Rejection was never a  _ thing  _ with him until he felt it firsthand.

  
  


The door is unlocked and Louis steps inside, the breath knocked out of his lungs a little bit despite seeing this room before.

The last time he was here, Harry called crying and Louis had been worried sick. He had noticed a little bit about the room but none of the details. Now that he’s seeing it without the worry clouding his mind he feels a weird sense of intruding on something intimate.

“So this is my room,” Harry says, and his voice is a little quieter than it usually is, a little deeper, a little softer. “Which, you’ve seen before.”

“I have,” Louis agrees, his voice quiet too because it feels wrong to disturb the moment.

There’s a tapestry on the wall above his bed. It’s not one of the madalas Louis usually sees in girls’ dorms—this one is dark and moody, a forest view of evergreens and fog. It’s lined with fairy lights, the ones Louis noticed before, and notices again when Harry flicks them on. The room is cast in a warm glow and Louis shuffles in a bit more, looking around in poorly concealed awe at seeing such a personal view of Harry’s life. The walls not covered by the tapestry are artistically decorated in music posts and papers printed with poetry. There are sticky notes stuck to the mirror with reminders and small messages and Louis reads a few of them:  _ performance this friday, lunch w/ little, do laundry!!!!! _

He’s so caught up in everything, the messy duvet and the guitar propped up against the wall and the desk area strewed with art supplies among other things, that he doesn’t realize Harry’s speaking.

“-I’ll sleep on the floor, and I’m not sure if you’re a nighttime showerer or not but it’s down the hall and I can show you in a second if that’s something you want, you can use my shampoo and stuff, I have like this body wash that smells like pomegranate and rose which is an unconventional combination but I love it a lot, and yeah. Also I’ll get some clothes for you to sleep in-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Louis blurts, having missed most of the beginning.

“What?” Harry asks, just as bewildered.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little.”

“Oh, I was offering you a shower? And pomegranate rose scented body wash.”

“I heard that, sorry, before that?”

“Oh. All I said was you’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll take the floor.”

Louis makes a noise of disagreement. Never would he imagine himself being cordial with Harry but here he is literally trying to politely refuse sleeping in his bed. It doesn’t seem right to kick him out of his own bed. Besides, he doesn’t think he can deal with that sort of… intimacy. “That’s alright, I can take the floor, or like, the couch downstairs?”

“No! No-” Harry stutters, looking a little frantic and then settling down once he realizes how awkward it is. “Sorry. Um, I’ll take the floor. The frat is… weird, like, I don’t want you sleeping on the couch out there. It’s fine. I want you to sleep in my bed.”

“Um, okay… I just feel bad if you’re on the floor-”

“Seriously, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Your back gets sore,” Louis protests. “I know that. That’s a thing.”

Harry waves it off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Louis hates having no choice but he has to admit letting Harry have his way just this once is definitely the way to go. “Alright,” he concedes wearily. “Um, I’m going to shower.”

“Let me show you where it is.”

Harry walks Louis down the hall to the bathroom and Louis is very glad that for a Friday night the house seems pretty empty and quiet. He doesn’t know why, really, but he doesn’t want anyone to see him here. Probably because he knows the assumptions people will make, which are normal assumptions given that Louis and Harry are  _ soulmates _ , but… It makes Louis feel sleezy and cheap. He doesn’t want to be kept around only for sex and then tossed aside when he’s bored of it.

“Thank you,” he mumbles and then closes the door without looking back at Harry because he doesn’t think he can take the sight of him right now, just with everything that’s going on in his mind. As Louis strips out of the clothes he’s been wearing all day, he ardently avoids looking into the mirror. He also tries not to think of the fact that he’s going to be taking a shower in the shower Harry also uses, how he’s going to be naked in a place Harry has also been naked. It seems insignificant and frankly stupid to worry about such a thing but he can’t help it, his mind is on overdrive and he’s trying to stop the intrusive images from popping into his head.

At the last second, as he’s stepping into the shower, he catches an accidental and regretful glimpse of his reflection, and doesn’t see anything really except the mark on his neck.

It disturbs him so much, he feels the aftereffects even as he showers, trembling despite the warmth of the water. He washes himself in a daze, going through the motions without thinking about them at all. At the end, he steps out and towels off, smelling of a pleasant mixture of pomegranate and rose and he realizes with startling clarity that he smells a bit like Harry. He’s still shaking. It isn’t explainable.

Additionally, he then realizes Harry never gave him clean clothes to change into after his shower. He looks at his crumpled pile of dirty clothes lying sadly on the tile floor and realizes he just can’t put them back on again. His mark is on full display and he vaguely considers putting his scarf on but realizes how stupid and dumb that would be, how weak he would seem for not even being able to show it for just a second. He doesn’t want to call more attention to it by doing that so he just sighs and feels his hands tremble, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He wraps up in the towel, puts on a brave face, and steps out into the hall.

When he gets to Harry’s room he debates knocking but his hands are shaking too badly so he just pushes the door open and steps inside, making sure to close it behind him. His eyes land on Harry who is busy straightening out the messy bed sheets, making it a bit more presentable for someone else to sleep in. For some reason a wave of heavy emotion washes over Louis and he doesn’t know exactly what it is but it feels warm and caring.

Harry turns around abruptly and sees Louis standing there, wrapped up in a towel but otherwise naked, hair dripping wet, mark fully on display.

“Oh!” he exclaims belatedly, eyes wide and unsettled, hands jittering. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to give you clothes.” He spins around quickly and rummages through his drawers, pulling a few items out and then leaving them in a neat pile on the bed. He makes to leave the room but Louis boldly states it’s okay for him to stay, he doesn’t want to kick him out of his own room.

Harry looks even more caught off guard at that but he turns around anyways and busies himself with the clutter on his desk, like he’s stress-cleaning or something. Louis quickly drops his towel and dresses, afraid Harry will turn around too soon. He examines the clothes chosen for him, soft sweatpants and an even softer t-shirt, with a sweater to put over it, and also a pair of wool socks. He leaves the sweater off but definitely appreciates the gesture; right now he’s warm from embarrassment but in a little bit of time he’ll probably want to put it on.

He awkwardly tells Harry it’s okay to turn around again and then towels off his hair so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. When he stands up again, though, Harry’s gaze flits away quickly, having been caught staring. Louis sits down nervously on the edge of the bed, and waits. He feels weird sitting in Harry’s room, wearing Harry’s clothes. A t-shirt he wears often, soft and worn with a few small holes near the hem, obviously loved very well. It’s much too large on Louis and hands loosely over his smaller frame. He loops the strings on the joggers into a bow and then plays with it just to keep his hands busy.

“Good shower?” Harry asks eventually, shuffling around, very obviously unsure of what to do. He already set up a place on the floor to sleep, just a pillow and two blankets, but it isn’t even that late yet. Not a decent hour to go to sleep although Louis isn’t really above going to bed early on a Friday night. It’s been known to happen.

“Yeah, it was nice.”

Harry nods, sitting down on his makeshift bed. He pulls a blanket over his lap and then leans back on his hands, looking up at Louis. “It feels good to be near each other, doesn’t it? Like, it feels like a relief.”

Louis is tempted to disagree but it would be a lie. He’s also tempted to cover up his mark because he feels so exposed, but it’s too late now, Harry’s already seen it of course. The damage is done. He doesn’t stare at it, but his eyes do tend to travel towards it every so often, each gaze burning with emotions Louis doesn’t understand. Eventually, Louis agrees. “Yeah, it does.”

“I know you don’t- you don’t  _ like  _ me, but we could- we should do this more often. Just so- just so it hurts less.”

Louis has no idea what to say to that so he just swallows thickly and nods, swinging his legs onto the bed and getting beneath the covers, still sitting because he isn’t sure if Harry wants to keep talking or not. Everything about the bed smells like Harry and one would think that’d be gross but all Louis feels is comforted by the scent.

Harry doesn’t add anything, so Louis lies down and curls up on his side, pulling the covers up high. He grabs the sweater Harry gave him and balls it up, cuddling it within his arms, hugging it to his chest. Harry must get up to turn the lights off because when Louis opens his eyes again, everything is dark.

There’s the sound of shuffling, and then Harry getting situated on the floor. He’s quiet after that, for a little while.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” Harry whispers.

Louis isn’t stupid, he knows what Harry means. But it hurts even to think about it. He’s too embarrassed to say it out loud. He doesn’t want to feel weak and sensitive.

“Please,” Harry says again, voice just as soft, just as quiet.

Louis clutches the sweater tighter in his arms, inhaling the clean scent of laundry detergent. It helps clear his mind but he supposes a hazy mind might be better for situations like this, where he’s trying so hard not to feel. The darkness helps but not enough. He can hear Harry’s breathing from here and it’s kind of scaring him.

Seconds tick by. He has to say it, even though he doesn’t even want to think it.

“You ignored me.”

  
  
  


HARRY

 

Louis falls asleep quickly. Harry knows this because he counts the spaces between his breaths and notices how they gradually slow down to a lulling rhythm and now everything is languid and even.

Harry knows it’s weird to enjoy listening to Louis’ breathing. But that’s his soulmate, for fuck’s sake, he’s allowed to be weird about things like this. Especially when said soulmate is curled up in his bed. Especially when said soulmate fell asleep trembling after telling Harry  _ you ignored me. _

He still doesn’t fully understand, but he can imagine what Louis means, and it isn’t good. He wants to talk to Louis about it but now obviously isn’t the right time, so he continues to stare up at the ceiling and try not to cry, or do something stupid like crawl into bed with him.

This week has been really, really good but everything is still so fucked up. Harry’s entire body is aching as it always is, but less so now that he’s closer to Louis for once. Their week spent together, with Louis teaching him French, was entirely too addictive. Harry is afraid he’s going to run out of excuses to see him, and then everything will go to hell again. He tells his mind not to worry about that right now, not when he knows his soulmate is safe and sleeping soundly in his bed right now, and everything is okay.

He tries to fall asleep but it doesn’t seem like something that’s going to happen anytime soon, so he turns over to his side and closes his eyes, enjoying the fuller feeling of his heart. Definitely because his soulmate is less than a few feet away. It’s surprising, how at peace his entire being feels.

There’s a rustling sound above him—Louis shifting in bed. He seems to settle again, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. It makes Harry smile. Then Harry feels something brush up against his shoulder. The touch makes him shiver. He turns around and sees Louis’ arm hanging off the bed, fingertips curled loosely and brushing against the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. He’s still very well asleep, eyes closed, lips parted, face impassive but peaceful.

Harry admits he moves a little closer to the touch of Louis’ hand, creating a much steadier contact between the two of them. He gets comfortable and closes his eyes.

Sleep comes quickly.

  
  


In the morning, he’s the first to wake up.

They’re still in the same position as last night, Harry notes. Louis is snuggled up against the very edge of the bed, his arm hanging off, fingers brushing Harry’s shoulder. A steady current of warmth and pleasure floods through Harry, starting at the place of contact and languidly traveling throughout. He relishes in it for a long moment, before regrettably getting up.

His back is sore, of course.

As he stands and stretches, he takes a long, long moment to admire Louis’ sleeping self. He looks unbelievably adorable, to the point where it’s kind of painful. Mostly, Harry wants to curl up behind him and wrap him up in his arms just to protect him from the world, to keep him safe and happy always.

Unfortunately, slipping into bed with Louis unannounced is not acceptable, and he’s pretty sure doing that would scare Louis away forever. With a sigh, and a self-indulgent moment of weakness where he reaches out and briefly pets Louis’ hair, he tears himself away and heads downstairs to make breakfast.

  
  


The thing about living in a frat house is that the smell of food is like a calling signal.

Approximately thirty seconds after Harry puts the first ladle-full of pancake batter on the skillet, one of his brothers shows up in the doorway. A few more trickle in afterwards. By the time he’s run through the bowl of batter, the kitchen table is full and a group of guys are huddled around Harry, eagerly awaiting the next pancakes.

“These aren’t for you,” Harry protests, holding the dish of freshly made pancakes high above his head, using his height to his advantage to keep the food out of the hands of the common people. The whole point of this was to make breakfast for his soulmate, not feed the entire frat. Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence. Everyone knows to conger in the kitchen on Saturday mornings.

“You’re not gonna eat all of those,” one of the guys complains, trying and almost succeeding in stealing a pancake off the plate. Luckily, Harry snatches out of the way at the last second.

“Fuck off, make your own.”

“He’s making them for  _ Louis _ ,” Harry’s little teases, smirking at Harry when everyone makes an  _ oooooo  _ noise.

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry tells him, even though he loves him. “I’m making them for myself.”

“You’re definitely not. And don’t get mad, I’m just stating the facts,” he retorts, seemingly self-satisfied.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning the skillet off and setting the spatula down. “You can do the clean-up, then.”

“Whatever,” his little says, flippantly.

Harry grabs his plate of pancakes, snatches the syrup out of one of the guy’s hands, and heads up to his room with determination, the sound of immature hollering fading behind him.

  
  


Louis is sleepy and warm and even more adorable and precious when Harry wakes him up gently.

Immediately he tries to go back to sleep, but Harry coaxes him awake with the promise of food. To that, he cracks an eye open, and sees the plate in Harry’s hand.

“Fine,” he grumbles, voice raspy and soft. “God, I’m freezing. Is the air conditioning on or something? It’s October, for fuck’s sake.”

“Um, I dunno,” Harry responds uneasily. “Do you want something warmer to wear? I think I gave you the sweater but I can get-”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Louis amends. “You did give me the sweater. Thank you.”

Harry swallows thickly and nods, watching as Louis pulls Harry’s sweater on over the t-shirt. Harry’s favorite t-shirt, the one he wears so much it’s on the verge of falling apart, but it’s just so fucking comfortable. The sweater is one of his favorites too, black and baggy and so, so soft. The sleeves are stretched and long and Louis pulls them over his hands, effectively making the cutest sweater paws Harry has ever seen. He has to restrain himself from reaching out and clasping Louis’ hands in his own. He also has to restrain himself from just lunging forward and attacking him in aggressive cuddles. He’s just too cute, all the time but especially right now, and Harry’s heart can’t handle it.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, trying not to think all the forbidden thoughts racing through his mind right now. “I didn’t know what you like to eat in the morning, so I made these, I hope that’s okay?”

Louis nods vigorously and reaches for the plate. “Yeah, yeah, this is awesome, thank you so much.”

They sit in silence as he eats and it should be awkward but for some reason all Harry feels is comforted, but his soulmate is in his sights and within an arm’s reach away, completely out of harm. Harry’s heart is singing happily at this information, no longer aching like it usually does.

When Louis is almost, finished, Harry decides he should probably change into actual clothes since he’s still wearing the clothes he slept in. He showered last night before people came over for the movie, so he supposes he’s okay on that front and instead decides to just change into a different t-shirt, this one long-sleeved, and a nicer pair of jogs.

Louis set the precedent last night of not leaving the room while getting dressed so Harry goes along with that now. It’s no big deal, anyways, but he does feel slightly self-conscious because this time Louis is facing him, and he makes no move to look away.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” Louis announces once Harry is finished pulling on his shirt. There’s a warm blush crawling across Louis’ cheeks and he looks a little unsettled, fingers twitching where they’re holding the plate, now just a mess of sticky syrup. Harry wonders if he wants to reach out and touch, just as badly as Harry wants to.

Harry nods though the thought of Louis leaving sends a ping of pain through his body. “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Harry cuts in. He’s unwilling to let Louis walk through the frat when there are so many opportunities for him to run into one of Harry’s brothers, who seem to have no filter as to the words that come out of their mouths.

As they walk downstairs, the impending sense of dread of Louis’ departure becomes stronger and stronger. Harry had been planning on studying a lot for French today but he predicts he’ll probably be in too much emotional pain to even want to get out of bed. He decides to change his plans, vouching that as soon as Louis leaves he’ll crawl back into bed and refuse to come out until he absolutely has to.

They’re standing outside on the doorstep, the door closed tightly behind them. The October wind is cold and biting, going straight through the thin material of his t-shirt. He looks over to Louis to see him shivering and it hits him that he’s still wearing Harry’s clothes.

Louis realizes at the same time because he swears and makes to go back inside to grab his clothes from yesterday and change back into them, probably. Harry stops him, though, a bit too insistent.

“It’s fine, seriously, I’ll just wash them and give them back to you next time I see you.”

“But I- what about these?” Louis asks, pointing at his (Harry’s) joggers and lifting the material of the t-shirt. Harry’s favorite t-shirt. The one that’s so soft and perfect after years of use. It does something to him to see his soulmate standing there wearing it. In all honesty he feels a little dazed at whatever it’s insinuating.

“It’s fine,” Harry repeats too quickly, “I don’t mind. You can just give them back later. Whenever.”

“Um, okay…” Louis whispers, voice soft. One hand is curled up and brushing against his neck, only partly covering his mark. Harry can’t stop staring at it, at the sight of his own handwriting wrapped around Louis’ neck, loud and imposing. It hurts to think Louis is so embarrassed of it that he covers it up every chance he gets, but Harry understands, at least he thinks he does. He knows how much Louis dislikes him, and has disliked him ever since this started. He knows how much Louis wishes he matched with literally anyone else but Harry.

Harry tries to think about what it would be like to have a mark in such a publically possessive place like Louis’. He likes to think he would be proud of it but he knows it’s not that simple.

He feels bad and like he’s culpable for all the pain and shame Louis has experienced, even though most of it was left up to chance, left up to the powers of the universe. It isn’t Harry’s fault they bonded, but it  _ is  _ his fault that Louis hates him, and he doesn’t know how to right it.

“So I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry agrees mindlessly, the whole world swirling before his very eyes. “Can I, um- can we try something?”

“What is it?” Louis asks wearily.

“Can we try hugging?”

“Uh, okay.” Louis just stands there helplessly, waiting for Harry to do something.

That doesn’t make Harry feel very good, because this is supposed to be a collective effort and he doesn’t want to be in charge of everything, especially initiating physical contact that’s supposed to be wanting by both of them, but he supposes he can do this now, just this once.

Tentatively, he steps forward until he’s standing right in front of him, the toes of their shoes touching. He lightly bumps his hand into Louis’ and then leans in, weaving his arms around Louis’ waist. Louis stills, his body going rigid, and Harry eases up a little, hesitating. He wants to ask if this is alright but he’s so afraid of cornering Louis into saying no and pulling away, so instead he gently smoothes his hands down Louis’ sides and then wraps his arms around him again, pressing their bodies together completely.

At first Louis doesn’t move, remaining still and stiff. But when Harry drops his head to his shoulder and lets it rest there, staring off not at Louis but at the world behind him, the cloudy gray sky, thick and opaque, no sunshine coming through, Louis cautiously raises his arms and wraps them around Harry’s neck, sinking into his hold.

They both relax into it, because suddenly it feels so good, it becomes impossible not to. Harry snuggles closer to Louis’ neck, breathing warm breath on his cold skin riddled with goosebumps. He sways them back and forth a little bit and it feels so  _ nice  _ to be wrapped up like this, to be entangled together and warm and comforted as the world around them is moody and cold.

Harry wants to tell Louis  _ I’m sorry _ but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, doesn’t want to risk Louis pulling away. He’ll save his apologies for another time. For now, he just holds Louis a little closer and feels their heartbeats begin to line up again.

Being this close to Louis feels so great, like nothing he’s ever felt before. They kissed the night they matched, and that was a heavenly experience but it was so, so much different from this, and in many ways a lot less momentous than this. Being this close after an eternity of having to stay away amplifies the feelings of comfort and safety.

“Harry…” Louis warns.

He sighs, indulgently pressing his lips to the skin of Louis’ neck and lingering there, not quite kissing him. He pulls away regrettably but keeps his hands on the curve of Louis’ waist, settled there, where they belong. Louis lets his arms detach from Harry’s neck, falling to his sides.

“It feels good to be close, doesn’t it?”

Louis swallows and looks away, but nods in agreement all the same.

“What if we… What if we made an  agreement to do this every so often? Just so- so it would hurt less. At the very least. Because…. Because we’re supposed to be together, Lou. I mean, I know you felt how our hearts lined up and… and I know you know how much it hurts to be away.”

“I do,” Louis admits, pulling away so Harry’s hands fall. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nods, tucking his hair behind his ear and brushing his finger once against his mark. He wonders if Louis knows where it is.

“See you soon, yeah? We won’t keep running away from each other?”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes, hand going up to cover his neck now, the matching mark out of sight now that it’s hidden behind his fingers. “See you soon.”

Watching him leave, Harry knows something has changed. They’re not where they need to be yet but it’s a big improvement from where they were only a week ago.

He ends up staying in bed all day, trying not to think about it, and failing miserably.

  
  


 

LOUIS

 

By the time Louis gets back to his dorm, he’s almost in hysterics. He’s on the verge of tears and he isn’t entirely sure why. All he knows is that he’s so fucking confused and torn.

His original plans for this weekend were to get as much sleep as possible and to catch up on his work. Harry already successfully monopolized his entire Friday, and now his Saturday morning too. Now it feels as if the world is off-kilter and nothing is as it should be.

He does the only thing he can think of, which ends up being calling his mother. Louis hasn’t visited her since the beginning of the semester, in August, but he’s feeling like now there’s nothing more he wants to do than go home and see her.

She knows immediately from the tone of his voice that something isn’t right. Louis hasn’t told her anything about how he soulmatched with someone. He’s been keeping it a secret from as many people as possible, so ashamed about everything that happened. But now he feels the need to get it all off his chest. He just wants to tell someone about it, and to not have them reprimand him for running away from Harry time and time again. He needs someone who will listen and not judge him. He needs someone who understands.

“Come home, pet,” she invites, because she knows exactly what Louis needs, even without him having to say anything. “Come home just for the weekend.”

The drive is an hour long but he hardly cares. He packs a bag of essentials and leaves immediately.

  
  


They go for a walk in the park near his childhood home. The leaves are vibrant and beautiful, many of them crunching beneath the soles of their shoes as they walk down the path, enjoying the beautiful October day. As Louis drove North, the sky had cleared up, turning from a ceiling of gray to now a sky full of sunshiney blue.

The sun feels nice on his face and the bare skin of his hands. Everything else is covered, first by Harry’s clothes and then a warm coat overtop. Jay didn’t ask about the well-worn shirt or the joggers which clearly don’t fit him correctly, but she did eye them warrily, saying, “I suppose you’ll explain.”

He does explain. Everything, actually.

He begins with the night he first saw Harry and how he knew immediately he was his soulmatch. The feeling is difficult to describe thought authors, poets, screenwriters, and more have attempted to describe the feeling ever since the beginning of time. ALl Louis can say is that it felt as if a thin thread had attached to his heart and was pulling him forward. He moved of his own volition but always had that extra push, that extra incentive.

Louis explains how he was completely ignored even though they knew he was standing right there. He recalls what he felt when the girl Harry was flirting with looked at him and smirked like he was some pathetic thing just begging for Harry’s attention. Jay listens and Louis moves on because he doesn’t want to dwell on anything, he just wants to tell the story.

So he talks about avoiding Harry after that and never wanting to see him, because he couldn’t face that same rejection again. He explains the night he went to Harry’s performance despite his best judgement, knowing Harry would be there but not being able to stop himself from going. He explores how it felt so strange, as if he wasn’t even in control of his own decisions and how he found his way to the front of the crowd easily despite the amount of people.

It hurts to say it out loud but he has to. He tells Jay about how they made eye contact and the world paused for just a moment. He tells Jay about how Harry pulled him up on stage and kissed him in front of everyone. He tells Jay how confused he felt, after the initial rejection and then the display of such passion, and how he ran away because he couldn’t stand to be forced to be with someone who doesn’t love him.

He tells her, regrettably, about the mess his life was after that day, when Harry knew they were matched and seemed not to recall rejecting Louis in the first place. He doesn’t go into the details but he does tell her how he desperately slept around searching for someone who could possibly love him, or at least give him what he needed, because Harry could do neither of those things. He talks about how Harry would sometimes be there too and how he would always watch over Louis and make sure he got home safely.

He mentions Harry calling him crying one night because it hurt so badly he couldn’t even think. He tells Jay how he feels the same way, how some nights he can’t sleep because of the pain. How he never wanted to be with Harry, not after the way he treated him that first night, but that his body betrays him and he can’t help but want him, can’t help but need him, just to survive, just to be able to breathe.

He also tells her about this past week, and how different it’s been. How Harry nearly begged for help with French and how Louis obliged him, perhaps spending more time with him than he needed to, and how Harry’s different from what he thought and none of it makes sense anymore. He talks about last night, the horror movie and the way he pet Harry’s hair, and how Harry knew something was wrong right away and hugged him comfortingly, and how he invited him to stay the night. Louis talks about sleeping in his bed, and then how gentle Harry was with him this morning, when he woke him up carefully and gave him breakfast.

The last thing he talks about is the hug and how Harry asked him to please be okay with doing this more often, just so it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Oh Lou,” she sighs when he’s finally finished, and they’ve walked the same loop at least three times now. “You poor thing.”

It feels good to walk in the fresh air and to be able to speak freely about everything that’s been plaguing him lately. He hadn’t known how much he needed to talk about it until he got it all off his chest. Now he feels liberated.

“So now I don’t know what to do,” Louis ends, summing up the basis of the crisis itself. _ I just don’t know what to do. _

“You think he doesn’t care about you,” Jay states, decidedly not a question. “And you’re sure of this. Even though you’re soulmates.”

Last week his answer would’ve been steadfast but today he just doesn’t know.

“Louis,” Jay warns. “You can’t be afraid of letting him love you.”

“He doesn’t love me, though. It doesn’t always work out,” Louis counters, feeling exhausted from spilling everything. “Soulmates aren’t an exact science. Matches go wrong every day, all the time.”

“It’ll never work out if you don’t try. You know that, darling.”

“I’m so scared of him hurting me,” Louis whispers.

“And what are you doing to him right now?”

She’s right, of course, she always is.

“So what do I do?”

“You have to decide, if this is something you want to pursue, or if you just want to leave it here and not come back. It’s a decision between both of you. It isn’t fair for you to run away, just as it isn’t fair for him to force you into anything. From what you’ve told me, it’s clear he wants to be with you Louis. He’s trying. But you have to talk about it with him. You have to tell him why you’re upset, why you’re afraid.”

“And what if I’m right about him not wanting me? About him wishing he matched with someone else?”

“Then you aren’t meant to be,” Jay answers simply. “And you move on.”

Easier said than done.

  
  


He stays the night at home and leaves late the next morning because he’s reluctant to go back to campus and face what he has to face.

It’s around six o’clock in the evening as he’s aimlessly scrolling through twitter to pass the time, when a call pops up on the screen of his phone. It’s Harry. Louis hesitates before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um, hi.”

“Is everything okay?”

“What- Oh! Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, no need to worry. I was just wondering, since my exam is tomorrow and I’m kinda freaking out, could we meet up somewhere for a little while and go over a few last things. I’m sorry for bothering you, it’s just-”

Louis cuts in before he can ramble more. “It’s fine. When and where?”

“The library. As soon as you can get there? I mean, if you’re not busy right now-”

“‘Kay, I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes.”

  
  


As it turns out, Harry is super prepared and hardly needs Louis’ help at all.

Mostly, he’s nervous though, and needs Louis to tell him he knows what he’s doing, so he feels better.

They sit side by side today because they’re sharing the book of poetry this time, looking over it together. Their chairs are crammed necessarily close, to the point where their shoulders touch, and their thighs are pressed together constantly. It isn’t as obnoxious as Louis would’ve thought, and he finds he actually enjoys the contact. It’s comforting to know his soulmate is next to him, safe and sound.

“Thank you so much,” Harry says when they’re finished, leaning back in his seat and splaying his arm casually across the top of Louis’ chair. It’s a flirty gesture and it makes Louis nervous but he tries to embrace it, remembering he’s supposed to be giving this a chance. “You’ve helped a ton. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Fail, probably,” Louis tells him, but he’s blushing at the praise anyways.

Harry ignores his insult. “I wanna take you out to dinner, as a thank you for helping me. Is that okay?”

Well, that was unexpected. Louis fidgets in his seat, suddenly unable to look at him. The blush on his face gets worse and he resists the urge to cover his face in his hands. The worst part is no one has ever done something like this for him before, so he has no idea how to act about it.

“I have some ideas,” Harry continues on, despite Louis’ reaction which is very poor, and not desirable, probably. “But we can go wherever you want. What d’you say?”

“Right now?” Louis squeaks, wishing he could’ve received a little warning, or time to prepare himself. He feels caught off-guard but surprisingly not as panicky as he could be. 

“Yeah, if you’re not busy.”

Harry knows Louis isn’t busy, because earlier he asked if Louis was doing anything tonight and Louis said no. He could make something up and pretend he forgot about it until now, but his mind isn’t creative enough to come up with an excuse that won’t sound fake even to his own ears.

Words aren’t the best right now so he just nods helplessly. Harry beams at him.

  
  


They end up at a pizza place because Louis couldn’t make a decision, and all he knew was that he absolutely didn’t want to go anywhere fancy.

It’s a good choice, though. Harry takes him to this place neither of them have ever been to before and they explore it together. Louis feels a little stiff at first but as the evening goes on he begins to feel more and more comfortable, especially as he gets to know Harry more and more.

They’ve never done anything like this before, obviously, having a meal with just the two of them, one-on-one so they have to talk to each other. Louis finds he enjoys it.

He ends up learning a lot about Harry, actually, and every second that passes he realizes how wrong he was about him, and it makes his heart ache even more because he has no idea what’s going on and suddenly he kind of begins to think that maybe he would sort of want a future with Harry…

Harry talks about his family a lot, his mum and his sister who he loves more than anything, really. Louis finds that very admirable. He also ends up rambling on about how happy he is to be the godfather of a little baby named Ruby and how much he loves little kids in general. Louis goes along with it and pretends he isn’t thinking of Harry having a family of his own, later in life.

It hurts, when he thinks about Harry having a family and Louis not being a part of it.

That’s how he knows.

It’s difficult to admit it to himself but as Harry’s words wash over him and he soaks it all in, nodding along and giving the appropriate responses at the appropriate times to show he’s listening, because he really is listening, Louis lets his mind wander a little bit and he considers a ton of different possibilities. One of the possibilities is that he never apologizes and never tries to fix this with Harry, and after today they stop speaking as often and stop seeing each other altogether and that’s where it ends. Harry goes on to find someone who will love him like Louis can’t, and Louis is left alone and depressed for the rest of his life because the one guarantee is that his soulmate will love him and when he doesn’t even have that, he just knows he’ll never be able to find anyone.

He doesn’t want that to happen. Of course he doesn’t want that to happen. He just really doesn’t want to lose Harry.

Fuck.

Harry’’s still rambling on about Ruby when Louis cuts in rudely, saying, “Hey Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I need to apologize,” he whispers, sucking in a shaky breath. “About, like, a lot of things.”

Harry doesn’t look very bothered at being interrupted. In fact, he looks relieved. He reaches across the table and grabs Louis’ hands in his own. “Me too,” he says sincerely.

Louis swallows thickly, feeling the warmth flood into his body through Harry’s touch. “Can I go first?”

“Of course, love.”

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Louis begins truthfully, unable to meet Harry’s eyes. It feels momentous and daunting because there’s so much he messed up, so much he has to fix. But he wants to do this. He needs to do this.

And so he tells him everything.

  
  


They’re both crying at the end of it.

It’s sappy and weird and definitely too intimate and personal for the public setting, given they’re sitting at a booth in a pizzeria and a lot of the other customers are looking their way now. Harry pays the bill despite Louis’ protests that they share it equally, and then they’re leaving as quickly as they can, still in tears, before they make an even bigger scene.

As it turns out, Harry didn’t know Louis approached him that first day at the party. He was drunk and busy talking to a girl and he just didn’t notice Louis approaching him. The girl didn’t help either, and she was the one who made Louis feel like shit anyways.

Then after that everything made a little more sense but Louis still had to explain and apologize for everything and that’s what he did, because all he wanted to do in the end was to be honest. It was difficult but he figured he had nothing to lose—they’d both already seen each other at their worst, anyways. Louis told Harry how afraid he was and how much he didn’t want to get hurt by loving Harry but not being loved in return.

Harry had his insecurities of his own which he shared with Louis once he was finished, and then ended up sitting on the same side of the booth just so Harry could hug Louis and tell him that even though they haven’t had the best beginning so far, he’s so glad they found each other, and he’s so glad they’re together now.

When they go outside, Harry stops him abruptly and hugs him tightly. They both stand there on the sidewalk, wrapped up in each other, and don’t let go for a while. It’s quiet and warm despite the October air, because Louis is quickly learning Harry is always a comfortable temperature and his body just radiates heat. He warms his hands up by slipping them beneath the hem of Harry’s shirt and pressing his palms flat to his shoulder blades. The touch makes Harry shiver a little bit but he still holds him tightly and refuses to let go.

For once Louis’ heart is thudding happily and he feels whole. His soul is finally satisfied after an eternity of turmoil from being separated from its match. Even when they were close together, especially this past week, there was a ton of animosity between them. Now, there’s only calm.

“So what do we do now?” Louis asks, once he’s pulled away enough from burying his face in Harry’s chest to speak out loud without his voice being muffled.

Harry is still snuggling into Louis’ neck so when he says, “Take it slow,” it’s distorted and Louis feels more than hears his words. “We get to know each other, for real this time. And we just go with it.”

“Okay,” Louis says, and thinks,  _ I can do that. _

  
  


After being apart for so long and denying themselves the simple pleasure of being near their soulmate, neither one of them wants to leave. They’re also hesitant to spend the night together because there are too many connotations and pressures and neither one of them are ready for that, either.

“Maybe we could pull an all-nighter,” Harry offers.

“And then what? We have to sleep at some point. And you have a big exam tomorrow.”

“Oh fuck, you’re right,” Harry groans. “Fuck, I totally forgot about that.”

“Do you wanna go back to the library and review a bit more?”

“Will you come with me?”

“If you want me to,” Louis hedges.

“Of course I want you to!” Harry laughs, exasperated.

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Well sorry I’m not used to this.”

Harry just grabs his hand and pulls him towards his car.

  
  


They end up reviewing together for three hours. Louis has Harry read to him and then translate it afterwards. The library is still and quiet and mostly empty again, and it feels like they’re in their own little world as Louis leans into Harry’s side and listens to him read and analyze French literature.

Harry has his arm around him and it feels both protective and comforting. These are feelings Louis has never felt before from a potential romantic partner, and he finds he likes it a lot. His heart finally feels settled after months of exhaustion and wanting, and though he still feels slightly nervous around Harry, it’s only a matter of time before they can coexist completely comfortably and peacefully.

When they finish up, Harry closes the book and gathers Louis up, bringing him even closer to his side. Louis goes along with it, curling up against Harry as much as he can in the chair.

“Your mark is beautiful,” Harry whispers lowly, eyeing Louis’ exposed neck. He wore a scarf all day but ended up taking it off when they were at the restaurant because he wanted to show Harry what he meant when he said _ sometimes it feels like a death sentence.  _ “I know it’s not as private as you’d want it to be, but it’s absolutely gorgeous on you. It would be gorgeous anywhere on you.”

If Harry told him that before, on literally any other day, Louis would’ve punched him in the face. But now that he knows it’s sincere, now that he knows Harry actually cares about him and wants to make an effort to make this work, not just for sex or whatever the hell else but for an actual lifelong relationship, it feels different. Louis’ mouth feels dry when he responds a quiet, “Thank you.”

“I’ve never shown you mine. Have you seen it?”

Louis shakes his head no.

Harry reaches up to his ear and combs his hair away with his fingers, holding it back and leaning down so Louis can see.

And there it is. Louis doubted its existence for so long, it feels strange to finally see it now. He reaches up with trembling fingers and lightly touches each letter, written in familiar messy scrawl.  _ Louis. _ Harry closes his eyes at Louis’ ministrations, humming quietly at the feeling.

“It’s real,” Louis whispers, because for some reason he thought it possible for Harry to not have a mark, for this whole thing to be one-sided. Now his heart is swelling, full enough with warmth and comfort that it feels like it might burst, or at least blow up like a balloon and carry him away. He traces the letters again with his fingers.

“I’m sorry I kissed you without asking,” Harry blurts suddenly, eyes still closed.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, thinking about that night and the crowded room full of college students and the way it felt like the world was falling apart in a good way. He wonders if Harry’s lips would feel just as soft as they did that night. If they would taste just as sweet.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, confirming. “I regret that so much. I just- I dunno…”

Louis stills. “Kissing me, you mean?”

“No! No,” he rushes, eyes flashing open and turning his gaze to look at Louis imploringly. “No, I don’t regret doing it, I only wish I had asked first.”

Fingers still curled around Harry’s ear, tracing the letters of his own name, Louis nods. “What d’you say we start over, then?”

A flicker of confusion passes over Harry’s face for a brief, fleeting moment. Louis watches on as recognition and realization take over, and he whispers a quiet, “Oh.” And then, with an adorably hesitant smile, “Are you sure?”

Louis nods again, leaning into Harry’s side, closer now so they’re sharing the same breath.

Harry smiles and breathes out a relieved laugh, letting his hands roam a little before finally setting them gently on Louis’ waist, touching him reverently like he doesn’t want to let go but he’s afraid of gripping too hard. It feels as though his hands belong there, on the curve of Louis’ waist. Louis reaches up and loops his arms around Harry’s neck, playing with the little curls at his nape and getting lost in the feeling of having his other half so close to him, for the first time ever. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

Harry’s still smiling at him and it feels right. He leans in ever so slightly, eyeing Louis’ lips.

“What do you say we begin again, Louis Tomlinson?”

Beyond words, he nods, and meets Harry halfway.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Also comments are super awesome and typically inspire me to write more fic ;)
> 
> Lot's of love <3


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